"They will be on the same shuttle as my wife and daughter." Garen assured the man. He knew where Hennst was coming from, the fear of losing a loved one at home was greater than any fear that surfaced in battle. Garen would expect nothing less from a man like Hennst. "Speaking of my wife and Daughter I beleive they will be home quite soon and if I do not invite you to stay and eat with us Valery would surely be furious with me." He laughed, the time for life or death matters was over... it was time to eat a much more important thing for Mandalorians.

Niko says:
were so lame
Kit_Fitsu says:
but awesome at the same time
Niko says:
its so contradictory
Magic Man says:
agreed on both acounts

Valery and Carissa soon arrived and Garen introduced them to Hennst. The two men then made conversation of past battles and experiences as Valery and Carissa made dinner. They then feasted on the delicious array of food presented by the two girls. Garen thanked Hennst for coming over and before he departed assured him that his new orders would soon come and to enjoy the remaining down time with his family for war was on the horizon.

OOC: I wanted to tie it up for us hope you dont mind.

Niko says:
were so lame
Kit_Fitsu says:
but awesome at the same time
Niko says:
its so contradictory
Magic Man says:
agreed on both acounts

OOC: To understand this post, keep in mind that the recent attack on Mandalore is considered a past event, though it will still be RPed out. That being said, this thread will continue the Mandalorians on the current "time trend" in order to keep up with the rest of the MBT.

IC:

It had been days since the end of the battle set by the Imperials. The Mandalorian Council had gathered at the aftermath to discuss the course of action to take. Garen recalled to the Council Cadden Blackthorne's warnings, that their enemy would make the first move. They were all expecting this enemy to be the Sith, but the truth of the matter was a surprise to them all. A declaration had been made by Garen. A declaration of war against the Empire for their crimes committed on the world. The act of aggression was unprovoked, and retaliation was warranted, else the Mandalorians would be viewed as weak cowards.

Garen had sent out a message on Blackthorne's personal channel, in hopes that the previous Mand'alor would receive it. Kyr was doubtful, but encouraged it all the same. He said he needed an army, and approached the Mandalorians for their aid. If it were up to him, Kyr would have dedicated the Protectors to Blackthorne's cause in a heartbeat. Garen may be our Mand'alor, but Blackthorne will always be my Mand'alor, he thought.

He applied the finishing touches to his new Spectre armor. It was in pristine condition, though he wished for it to be improved, due to the minimal damages it incurred in the battle. An Imperial tank nearly blasted a hole in the armor, which could have killed him if he was not warned on time to move out of the way. That engagement didn't last long, however, as he delivered the pain from his M-88 Blackstorm Assault Rifle with two well-placed grenade shots, which decimated the threat before it could get another shot off.

All the same, the armor was not perfect. And it was not his. Not until he added his personal touches to it. He chose a gold and green color scheme to the armor, rather than its dull gray default. It signified what his mission to the Protectors was - a predominant green signified his duty and loyalty to the Protectors and to his Mand'alor, whereas the gold represented the vengeance he would wrought upon the Empire for their treachery that day.

He took a look at his helmet, following the same color scheme. He had painted a pair of jaig eyes on it, mirroring his standard armor, in a plain black paint to signify that the bravery he had demonstrated in battle in times past would be forever backed up by his pursuit of justice. He was about to put the helmet on when a communication came in. He examined it, and smiled. It was from his daughter, Kera. Freedom had gained his respect as a warrior and, by association, his blessings for his daughter's hand in marriage.

The grin quickly faded, however, as he observed the exchange between Freedom and Kera, and the Jedi known as Daer'Gunn. The man was bold to call himself Mando'ad, perhaps even stupid. A true Mando'ad would not forsake his vode in a time of need, such as the foolish Jetiise did. Their selfishness would be their undoing, he was certain.

However, he could also not ignore the behavior his ad displayed. While she had a place for it, it was not there. The relationship between Mando'ad and Jetii was strenuous enough, it did not need random outbursts of rage to make it worse. Though, he knew, sending his vode off to die in some Jetiise holy war, and receiving no benefits of their aid in return, was not exactly the kind of mutual alliance that Blackthorne had planned for. He also doubted that Starfall would be so kind in knowing that they were doing all of the Jedi Order's dirty work, with no reward.

He thought long and hard about what he had observed. Kera had a right to be angry, and Daer'Gunn's unsympathetic approach to their aiding them in the battlefront disturbed him. But, this was akaan, and, simply put... people die in war. Benefit or not, Mando'ade honored their alliances.

It wasn't always that way, but Blackthorne, and subsequently Starfall, was pressing for a different organization. An organization of Mando'ade that he did not particularily agree with, but followed nonetheless. They were not rank-and-file soldiers, they were warriros. Each one of them capable of taking on ten times the number of an enemy easy. Kyr sighed, and activated the console. He paused for a moment, before he hit a button to initiate the recording. What he was about to say, he doubted she would not see coming, but it was his response nonetheless.

"Kera," he spoke, "I received your message. As... annoying... as the Jetii behaved, I do not believe that he takes the meaning of vod lightly, though I also do not believe that he fully knows what it means to be vod to another. The Jetii have not been faithful in our alliance, this I agree with. They take our numbers to fight their wars, and we receive no benefit in the end. We were recently beseiged by the Empire, and only a couple refugee Jetiise aided in our defenses. It was discovered they arrived to warn us of an impending attack by the Dar'jetii, not to assist us, but assist us they still did. Even if this... di'kut... is a predominant figure among the Jetii, do not judge them based on the actions of one.

"Remember, Kera, you are betrothed to a Jetii whom willingly learned our ways, fought as we fought, and is considered Mando'ad. Daer'Gunn... any man who is unwilling to put aside who he is, to learn who he can become, is not fit to be called Mando'ad. If his... vode... wish to call him one of their own, that is their choice, but one with such disregard to our ways will never be considered Mando'ad here.

"Above all, take heed of these words: Bridges between friends can be burnt," he paused for a short moment, as though he believed it would help, "but family is for life." It was a phrase she heard so many times from him, he was sure she had it memorized by now. "Daer'Gunn is not your family, therefore you have no obligations to him, nor his Order." He looked to the side, as a report came in. "Take care, and try not to ruffle too many feathers. Mand'alor has issued a call to arms. We are going to war against the treacherous Galactic Empire.

"Do not concern yourself over the matters of these Jetiise. Even when Blackthorne was our Mand'alor, I never understood them. Jetii do not care to understand our ways, and we will never care to understand theirs. Recognizing that is the first step to learning to coexist with them. I must go, Dha Werda Verda are being deployed along with the Black Brigade as part of the forward defense, and my status as a Spectre requires that I go with the preemptive strike team. I will contact you when I can." Kyr ended the recording and, pausing only for a brief second, sent it off. He looked at his newly customized helmet once more before slipping it into place.

"Mand'alor, he spoke through the comm device, "I am on my way."

OOC: I know you're busy, Top, so I'll take the initiative if you don't pick it up within the next couple days. Mostly just to get things moving along.

Reverting to realspace the YZ-775 Kyr'la Nehutyce engaged her sublight engines immediately. Their power could be felt through the rumble of the ship as it set course for Keldabe. Tapping various controls Kera brought up the communications system speaking into it while Freedom readied the ship for entrance into the atmosphere. “Keldabe Control, this is the Kyr’la Nehutyce requesting clearence to land.”

Receiving authorization Freedom brought the transport in hot. Time was of the essence, the Shadow Warriors were about to depart for their mission and neither of them was about to miss the opportunity. Putting her chest piece back on Kera winked at her fiance. “So am I going to have to save your sheb[butt] again? That lack of proper beskar’gam is going to make you a nice pretty target.”

Scowling Freedom looked at his fiance as he brought the ship around to land next to a gathering of fully armored Mandalorians, one of them wearing a distinct set of custom armor. Kera playfully smiled back knowing she had struck a sore point with her soon to be husband. “Udesii[Easy] love, just having some fun. We’ll find you a proper set of beskar you have my word.”

Nodding to Kera Freedom extended the landing gear and powered down the ship at the same time. The result was a perfectly timed landing that had the ship setting down on its dampers as the ship powered itself down in an orderly fashion. The last thing Freedom did was smack the panel to open the boarding ramp. He would suit up on the way to whereever the mission was taking place, he assumed that the Kyr’la Nehutyce would be the primary transport for the Shadow Warriors not flying combat craft as it had been in the past. Grabbing Kera’s hand and giving it a squeeze to reassure her that he had faith in her promise they walked toward Kyr as they left the ship.

OOC: Right! So, it's been a few days, and no Top. Safe to assume I'm taking the reins on this one until he returns to action.

IC:

Two days ago:

After Kyr had departed his chambers, he immediately traveled to the command center in Keldabe. There was little to be said to his wife and two sons; the call had been sent out to all Protectors. He was uncertain, however, if the Protectors stationed on Dxun and Onderon would receive the call, considering their status and orders there. However, he was confident that, even if Kera did not receive the call, which was unlikely, that she would still arrive. He was counting on it. Already, he was putting forth his own preparations for, knowing her daughter, she was probably already leaving planetside in the Kyr'la Nehutyce.

He arrived in the briefing room, wearing his full suit of armor, customized to his preference, and the other Mandalorians looked up at him. Only Garen knew about its appearance prior to the battle, but the others in the Council were still getting used to it. Customarily, he took his helmet off to reveal his face, as he approached the holo board. The only member of the Council not present was Karric, no doubt he was on the way, however. The man spent a lot of time with MandalMotors, and last he heard he had taken a visit to another facility to oversee the production of the first Kad and Prudii prototypes. They were being made just on time, and no doubt would they be field tested in the coming battles.

"Mand'alor," he said, "my Shadow Warriors are mostly assembled, save for the two that were offworld during the battle. They will be here by the time we are ready for departure."

Garen simply nodded. There was no room for formalities; they had a war to plan. "Our intelligence has analyzed the aggressors from the recent battle," he began, "and there is no doubt that it was an Imperial attack. Identities matched up to our test samples perfectly, and the IFF of the wrecked ships in orbit were confirmed. The question is, why would the Empire make such a maneuver, after approaching us in regards to this treaty? Clearly, it was to keep us from being a problem, and now they've made us a problem. Their problem."

"Blackthorne did mention that our enemies would be the first to make a move," Nedth commented. "But we were expecting the Sith, not the Empire."

"DId he know?" Kyr pondered aloud.

"It's hard telling, with him," Garen responded. "Whatever the reason, the Empire made a bad choice, hitting us on our home front. The attack was not unanticipated, so our losses were nowhere near as heavy as they could have been. I have already drafted up a counter-assault campaign, to teach these aruetiise a lesson they won't soon forget." The attack stirred something in Garen. Something Kyr hadn't seen in the man before. Was it personal? Or was it just the final push in a subtle edging toward a side of the Mand'alor that had yet to be revealed?

Garen toggled a switch on the holo board, and a three-dimensional map of the galaxy came to life. He focused on a specific region of space, far from Mandalore and their territories. It was the former territories of the Xen'Chi Remnant. A fitting target, as they had nearly launched a campaign against that area shortly after the war, had the Empire not beaten them to it. It was almost like payback for the stealing of their glory. "No doubt you are familliar with this area of space," Garen continued. "The Empire is holed up here, with no room for reinforcements. The Republic surrounds them out there, and they've nowhere to go, and nowhere to receive reinforcements from. It is a perfect opportunity to strike."

And claim the worlds as our own, Kyr added to himself.

Garen proceeded to lay out the plan of attack. As Kyr had earlier suspected, he chose the Shadow Warriors and Black Brigade for the pre-emptive strike, on the world of Yag'Dhul. They knew nothing of the Empire's defenses, so the two groups were to provide recon and, as necessary, sabotage, to even the playing field. Anything to deliver the hurt while the rest of the Protectors got ready to launch a strike force against that sector of the galaxy. Of course, the task would not be easy. If they drew attention to themselves, it would turn into a suicide mission. And, while Kyr liked the idea of fighting a good fight, he wasn't too keen on dieing for nothing, either. Discretion would be required, along with the necessary brute force.

It would be interesting.

Garen continued to lay out their plans, showing detailed strategies of assaults on Abregado-Rae, Thyferra, Mrlsst and Ghormon. Finally, pending victory at those worlds, he demonstrated their battle plan for Fondor.

It was riddled with "what ifs" and "maybes", with input from his Council, but in the end, it was what they had to work with. Garen emphasized the importance of the recon mission, as part of it was meant to gather as much intel on the area as possible, in order to relay it back to him for alterations to the plans.

Plans always required alterations, however. There was no such thing as a perfect battle. Even the massacres they had with the Xen'Chi on some of those fronts were not perfect battles.

When the plans were laid out, the Council was dismissed. Preparations had to be made. Karric, whom had arrived about when Garen had began talking about the plan for Thyferra, was tasked with getting models of both the Kad and Prudii built for the upcoming battle. There were a mere handful of both available, which would provide an adequate field test, but Garen wanted a fully functional unit to be deployed with the rest of the fleet. There were no promises, as it would stretch their facilities thin, but Karric could guarantee at least enough to gather field data on the ships' performances. It had to suffice.

There was also news that the Kotir-class Cruiser Carrier had been fully developed, and was awaiting approval for manufacture. It was too bad, Kyr thought, that it would not be ready on time to see the glory of the fight against the Empire. Perhaps before this war Blackthorne promised them came to a close, it woudl see battle. Naturally, Garen approved of one of the ships being built; however, preparations for the coming battles took priority. It was understandable.

On the way back to his yaim, Kyr began to run through the options he had at his disposal. He began to think about things that he was not ready to decide upon just yet. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle, the fact that the next one could be his last, that was driving him to make these choices. Whatever the case, once he arrived, he had made his decision.

One day ago:

He finished prepping his weapons and checking his armor for any system malfunctions. Everything was in top shape. Kyr couldn't take any chances with this deployment, he had to be at his best. The M-88 Blackstorm alone would not be enough if he were to continue to wear his new Spectre armor, and compared to his previous armor, it would definitely increase his life expectancy. He added to his arsenal his Mandalorian Assault Rifle, Autoblaster, and Repeater. It would make him a little more encumbered, but it would also give him the additional firepower he would require for battle. It was just too bad he didn't have the time to expand upon the armor's weaponry attachment modules, but luckily it worked out in the end for the Spectre.

Kyr gave his battle management software suite another run-through to ensure all systems were functional, and nothing was amiss. When it gave him a positive return, he powered it down and set it aside. Stepping out of his workshop, he came face to face with Nasrey. "Riduur," he said to her, and the two embraced. "Tomorrow, we depart for war."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she responded. "Jahaal was notified, and Beviin has also answered the call."

Kyr grinned. Beviin was ready, though he was no supercommando. He put in a special request that he be field-trained, so that he was not delayed in being granted the status. It was accepted, though he had a suspicion his status as a Spectre held a weight of influence on the decision. Jahaal, he was considered the mirror image of his father, and there was no doubt that he would do well in the battles to come. "Kera sent word," he told her, "she's answering the call as well. Freedom is accompanying her."

"You believe it is time?"

Kyr nodded. "There may not be another chance. He is ready. He proved his worth when he assisted us against the Xen'Chi, cast aside his identity as a Jetii and proved himself capable of taking up one of a Mando."

Nasrey nodded. "He has no beskar'gam," she noted.

"That is being taken care of."

Present day:

Kyr was gathered with the rest of the Mandalorians, in his full battle dress, including his weapons before his Spectre armor. He was the only one whom wore the armor present. Which was understandable. He went into battle knowing little about it, and came out of it unharmed and the armor suffering minimal damage itself, at best. He earned the right to keep it as his own, even if it was prohibitively expensive to produce. Mand'alor had faith in him to keep it from being destroyed. Or dieing in it.

Knowing what they were up against, even if they didn't know much, if anything, about them, Kyr wasn't so sure. However, like a true warrior, he kept his resolve, and put that thought aside. If he met his end on the battlefield, he only prayed it would result in their victory.

They were almost ready to move out, and he could not delay a moment. Just as they were getting ready to move, a sound cracked through the atmosphere. He didn't bother looking up, he knew those engines. It was the Kyr’la Nehutyce. Always one for a fashionable entrance, he mused, and waited until the ship touched down. No sooner had it landed did the boarding ramp open and down strode two individuals. They looked ridiculous together; one wore a full suit of armor, and the other... well, the other was a Jedi. A stereotypical Jedi. Kyr couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and he was certain that Freedom felt the same. Though he did enjoy the noticeable embarrassment wrought on by his forced decision for attire, it relieved the tension in the air. Also, having a Jedi tag along wasn't a bad idea.

"Warriors," he yelled to his bretheren, "move!" The company around him obeyed, and the Shadow Warriors that awaited wasted no time climbing up the ramp, while the Black Brigade made their way to their various transports. The logistics of the operation demanded that they leave in intervals; however, they had to be ready for a moment's notice. Each craft was to be configured with a random, neutral IFF in the chance they had to be scanned before allowed to land. Most would be labeled as merchant ships, some as mercenary craft. The latter was easier, as most of the ships already had the proper IFF codes for that.

"Kera," Kyr said, and looked at Freedom in turn, "Freedom. Ad, if you would accompany the rest of the Shadow Warriors." Kera obeyed, and Freedom turned to follow, but Kyr stopped him. "I'm going to be the first to arrive. I could use a capable ally such as yourself by my side, in case things get rough."

OOC: I took a couple of assumptions, knowing that Kera's pretty obedient when it comes to her father. Wanted to leave room for a response, though, so if you'd prefer I keep it more open than that, just let me know and I'll edit it appropriately.

The White Flame reverted to real space over Mandalore. The planet looked as though it was still recovering form the recent battle held here. Smoke could bee senn from space but what was worse was the feeling that spread through the Force. Araya touched Daer'Gunn's arm.

"Can you feel it too?"

"Yes I can, they are ready for war." The Jedi Master turned his head and looked at the helmets of Blaze and Flash. The two were locked on to the planet with nothing wavering in their conviction. The comms beeped and the language of the Mandalorians was heard over the speaker.

"I am Jedi Master Daer'Gunn. I am in search Master Cazzik Wynn and I would also seek and audience with Mandalore if he is available." It was bold to say such a thing but he had a dual purpose for being here. He needed to get information from Master Wynn. Daer'Gunn needed someone who had been there and seen what had transpired. This whole situation did not feel right and he felt that there was something else behind these attacks. His other reason for being here, he needed to reforge the connection that has been broken. The Jedi were not honoring their side of the agreement and being with his two escorts made him see that even more. They could not afford to lose the Mandalorians as allies and friends with Sivter holding on to his weapon. The second Sivter saw the Mando's as a threat, he would release his weapon and the death toll would be almost absolute.

The comms came back on and they were told where to land. the voice of the communications officer seem agitated about even speaking to the ship and even more about letting them land. Either way, Daer'Gunn guided the ship down.

"They never said anything about the meeting my love." Araya warned.

"First things first, they didn't shoot us out of the sky, that means we at least have a chance. Now we just have to find Cazzik after that we will see how far my smile will get us." He smiled and she hit him in the shoulder.

They landed and Daer'Gunn prepared himself making sure everything was in place. His red armor was already on and he was ready to greet anything that would meet them at the bottom of the platform, friendly or not. As the group came down the ramp they were four Mando's in full armor waiting at the bottom. One was in an armor set that looked foreign ever for this place but the other three had similar markings to Blaze and Flash. Daer'Gunn stopped and Blaze walked forward.

"Su cuy'gar! Came from Blaze's helmet and the greeting was responded by the taller of the four that were there. Blaze's helmet came off and so did the taller man's. The taller had red hair that was streaked with silver. He also had a scar that went from his left eye brow down to the tip for his nose on the same side. His eyes held the same grey-ish tint as Blazes did. The two embraced and then Flash followed suit. The three remaining nodded to each other and walked away. Blazed turned back to Daer'Gunn and said;

"Master Daer'Gunn this is my father, Falmen Castiog." Daer'Gunn bowed his head in respect.

"It is an honor to finally meet the man who raised such a fine warrior. He has saved my life more times than I can count in the last couple of months. He does you family name proud." Daer'Gunn walked down and held out his hand. Falmen took his own hand and grabbed Daer'gunn by the forearm to which the Jedi returned in kind.

"I thank you for the kind words, but now is not the time for such pleasantries. I am sure you know of what has happened here?" His voice was rough and there was durasteel backing it. His face and armor shown the scars of many battles.

"I have, that is why I am here. First I would never allow your son and his wife to miss a call from Mandalore. Second I need to find a Jedi that was here when the raids started. His name is Master Jedi Cazzik Wynn have you seen or heard of him?"

The Jetii I have heard of. I don't know where he is at now but he is still on the planet. I will leave you to find him. Lin'arra, Grenan, you two need to go to the ship, we are getting ready to leave."

He turned with a short nod to Daer'Gunn and Grenan turned to the Jedi Master and extended his arm. Daer'gunn took his arm and pulled the young man close to him. "K'oyacyi! [Stay Alive] You hear me?"

Grenan smiled and let go of him. Lin'arra had given Araya a short hug and they both ran off into the sea of their fellow warriors.

Never one to deny the requests of anyone he respected, especially one such as Kyr Freedom nodded in the Mandalorians direction. “It would be an honor to fight at your side. I just need to get my kit from the ship.”

Turning around Freedom jogged to catch up with Kera bumping her in the shoulder with his arm as he reached her. She looked up at him her green eyes carried a sense of worry under her calm confidence. Internally she was full of confidence, focused on the goal yet held a distinct sense of worry close to her heart. Freedom reached out and grabbed her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Cyar'ika, we have done this before. We will do it many times beyond today. Besides, Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur[Today is a good day for someone else to die].”

Pulling herself tight to Freedom Kera buried her head against his chest inhaling then released him. Her father would disapprove of such emotional nonsense before going to battle but she was not about to let him walk off to war without knowing how much she cared about him. Freedom walked down the passageway to where Kera and he kept their personal weaponry. Grabbing two duffle bags Freedom opened them and started to place his kit in them carefully. A DC-17m assault rifle, his beloved modified 434 blaster pistols, his Srraka blade he laid in carefully keeping it in his sheath. Grabbing various charges, grenades, flash bangs and other weapons of violence he stopped at his fathers lightsaber. He always took it with him on his travels. It had no charge, it was simply a reminder of his father that he held close to him. Picking it up Freedom looked over his shoulder seeing Kera acting like she was busy replacing charged blaster packs with empty ones, they all had been fully charged three days prior.

Standing up Freedom pulled her to him and clipped his father’s lightsaber to her belt, deftly without her noticing. Kissing her he pulled her even tighter ignoring the crushing of his own chest in against the solid plates of her armor. Holding her there for what felt like an eternity and at the same time not long enough he released her, picking up the duffle of weaponry and the duffle of armor he had used during the Xen’Chi war. It was nothing compared to Mandalorian iron but it would protect him if he needed it. “Kar'taylir darasuum cyar’ika, Kera.”

Leaning his forehead down he kissed the top of her head and walked toward the the boarding ramp. Kera followed him to the bottom of the ramp where they kissed one more time. “Ramikadyc, Love. Oya Manda.”

Kera smiled as he pulled away. Turning and walking away she stopped him by grabbing his hand. “Kar’taylir darasuum cyar’ika, Freedom. May your hunt be good and your enemies be plentiful.”

She watched him halfway across the landing area then walked into the ship, sliding her helmet on as the rest of the Shadow Warriors found their bunks, cleaned their weapons and cooked up a meal. One of them stopped and pointed at her waist. “Your boyfriend forgot one of his weapons.”

Confused Kera looked down and saw the lightsaber hanging on her belt. She knew it was not one of the lightsabers that Freedom took into combat but his fathers. Closing her eyes for a moment she regained her emotional balance and then walked to the cockpit. Powering up the ship she brought all systems online waiting for her father to give the go ahead, watching his ship as she did.

*****************************************************************************************************
Freedom walked toward the Final Ceremony and set his gear down next to Kyr. “Alright ori’vode[big brother, I’m ready to go.”

Kyr simply nodded Freedom toward the ship, and walked inside. Once Freedom was aboard, Kyr retracted the boarding ramp and immediately made his way to the cockpit. Freedom, on the other hand, made his way back to the empty quarters that was reserved for whoever tagged along with the Mandalorian when he traveled.

"You better strap yourself in," Kyr warned him over the comm after powering the ship up, "I'm lifting us off." Moments later, the Final Ceremony gracefully left the ground, and Kyr turned it at a 45 degree angle before he accelerated it forward. Angling the flight stick toward him, the ship started to climb, and finally break atmosphere. He continued on its cousre as he started to plot in the coordinates. Once they were set in, Kyr engaged the hyperdrive, and the ship disappeared from the system in a flash.

Once they were safely in lightspeed, Kyr left the cockpit and traveled back to the living quarters. Freedom was waiting in the small, cramped lounge area, which only accomodated two individuals. "You look ridiculous," Kyr told him. Without stopping, he disappeared into his quarters, and seconds later reappeared, helmetless, with a duffel bag. "If you're going to be involved in this, you might find this a little more accomodating." Kyr threw the bag at Freedom's feet and, without another word, proceeded to grab a refreshment.

__________

Nasrey watched as the Final Ceremony lifted off, and eventually escaped the atmosphere. It wasn't until the ship was outside eyesight that she finally averted her attention. The war against the Xen'Chi was one thing, she knew, but the war against the Empire was another. The advantage they had was that they were attacking a remote Imperial destination, with little chance of reinforcements. She was to be part of the third wave, along with Jahaal and Beviin. But Kyr and his Shadow Warriors, including Kera, were being sent off as advance recon to assess the situation and report back to Mand'alor so that the battle plans could be modified and completed accordingly. And the Black Brigade?

Well, the Black Brigade had a mission that would deem the entire campaign either a success, or a failure. It was a mission that, if not handled delicately, could put the Mandalorians in a very bad position for the rest of the galaxy. She didn't know the details, nor did she want to. All she knew was that they were tasked with a mission-critical assignment. It was all she was allowed to know. If information got out about what they were going to do...

She interrupted the thought process with a very simple phrase. K'oyacyi, cyare, she thought, before turning to her two sons, whom had been standing with her the whole time. Before she spoke, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of a Jetii. A Jetii conversing with four Mando'ade. She scowled. "Aruetycate hut'uunla Jetii," she said. Her two sons looked over. Kyr had told them of what happened on Onderon just a couple days ago; not out of spite, but because his aliit had the right to know. Predictably, it did not sit well for Nasrey. Kyr's distrust for the Jetiise, compared to her sheer hatred for them, ebbed on their family members, though Kera and Beviin were both more tolerant about them than Jahaal was. The oldest son simply didn't trust them, and saw no reason to. Beviin, however, only felt that Jetiise had no place being called allies to the Mando'ade.

Looking at Kyr oddly Freedom opened the bag, immediately recognizing what was inside. His eyes widening Freedom reached into the bag pulling out a helmet and looked toward Kyr. Staring back at the green buy'ce[helmet] the Jedi looked back toward Kyr again in a sort of stunned silence. “Where did you get this? This looks like that beskar’gam that was hanging in your house. The set Kera said was a trophy from a kill.”

Kyr’s face went cold, if that was possible, and he looked at Freedom. "You're probably wondering why Kera hasn't married yet. That armor belonged to her previous suitor."

Eyeing the armor a bit differently Freedom set the helmet down beside him and looked over the various other pieces of armor. He noticed no scratches, dents, gouges or holes in the armor which left him wondering how Kyr had killed the man. He thought better of asking. He had worn a set of durasteel beskar’gam during the Xen’Chi War, this was the first time he had actually worn a full set of the Mandalorian iron. Sliding on the shoulder plates, back plate and chest plate the Jedi felt the immediate difference. The layered ceramic plates underneath allowing for far more flexibility then the armor he was used to wearing.

There were several differences between this armor, Kera’s armor and the armor he wore during the Xen’Chi war he noticed. There was a lack of hidden weapons, no forearm vibroblade, dart launchers or anything that could be used as one. This armor did still have the repelling wire and various other utilities however; including a water and air tanks. Sliding on the rest of the armor Freedom left the jet pack in the bag, in a ship this tight on space he didn’t feel like bumping into something every time he turned around. Freedom twisted and turned testing the flexibility of the armor.

He didn’t care much for the color but he could live with that till he got the chance to change it. Grabbing the helmet he flicked on the the HUD watching various data flow across the interior. He noticed that Kyr had updated the helmet, something that Freedom did not take for granted. Reaching into his own bag he pulled out his blaster pistols clipping their holsters to the thigh armor, he would wait for the remainder of the more heavy weaponry. Grabbing his two lightsabers he clipped both of them to the armors belt then walked over to Kyr satisfied for now. Offering Kyr his hand Freedom thanked him. “Thank you, vod[brother].”

"Don't thank me," Kyr responded, surprisingly dry with his tone. He put his drink down on the small bar-like table. "This armor will serve a constant reminder to you what I'm capable of, should you ever bring dishonor to this aliit." Finally, he took Freedom's hand, just before he retracted it, then brought his other hand to brace his forearm, not rough, but not gentle either. "You now own your own beskar'gam," he continued. "You are learning our language, though you are nowhere near fluent. This will come in time. You have proven yourself capable of defending yourself and your family, and you have dedicated yourself to contributing to the welfare of this aliit. Finally, you have volunteered service to Mand'alor by answering this call to arms, when you were not called out. There is but one other tenant to follow in the Resol'nare... raising your children as Mando'ade."

Kyr studied Freedom's eyes for a moment, before he pressed on. "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad." There was a pause of no more than one second, though it felt like an eternity. "Welcome to the clan, Freedom. Do not let me regret this decision. Ba'jur, beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — an vencuyan mhi." Another pause. "Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader — all help us survive.

"If we live through this, you will marry my daughter on Manda'yaim." Kyr let go of Freedom, and retrieved his drink, before disappearing through a doorway. The man headed to the cargo hold, where he unloaded his weapons and armor and organized them in their proper places. The armor was slightly difficult to accomplish, as his receiving of it was unplanned, but he had some precious moments after the battle to consider how he would store it amongst the rest of his supplies. He also brought his other suit of armor, due to the low profile Mand'alor wished to keep for the Spectre armor for the time being. While word would get out of a new suit of armor, it was not worth wearing it during a recon mission. He would stick out like a sore thumb and, if Yag'Dhul received intelligence on it, their whole advantage would be eliminated. This first strike had to be handled with a delicate touch; there was no room for mistakes. Once his armor was stowed away properly, Kyr began to re-outfit himself in his traditional suit. It would feel weird, not relying on the beskar-constructed beskar'gam, but he also felt somewhat weak, at the same time.

There would be a time for the armor, but that was not for the first mission.

OOC: More to come later, planet-side. I'll probably pick up on Garen if Top doesn't return by Monday.

“Ba'jur, beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — an vencuyan mhi”. The words sunk in as Kyr spoke them. Freedom had heard many mandalorian sayings, this however was one reserved for a true brother, a vode. Kyr continued to speak, what he said next Freedom was not expecting however.

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.” Freedom knew what it meant, Kyr reassured him he was right. Freedom’s mood went from apprehensive to confident. He was Mandalorian, a Mando. He knew the importance, the words that were being spoken meant. Kyr had officially given him permission to marry Kera, had let him join forces with him against Mandalorian enemies and now had brought him into his family. While Kyr maintained a very hard exterior his acceptance of Freedom showed that while he was a brutal killer he only wanted the best for not just his family, but also Mandalore.

Watching Kyr walk back toward his cabin Freedom slipped on the helmet to his armor. Screens flashed before him, readouts showed the status of his suit, its seals, air supply, filtration system, all important to him in combat. Looking toward the bottom left corner of the screen Freedom blinked once and a more detailed status report of his armor popped up. Blinking twice music started blaring through the speakers. Growling in frustration Freedom blinked twice more to shut the music off and shook his head against the ringing in his ears. Focusing on his task he worked his way through a few more menus looking in various directions in the helmet swearing to himself that before they landed he would calibrate the menus in the buy’ce to what he wanted.

Finding his goal Freedom brought up the communications message center within the helmet. Disappointingly he noticed that there were no direct message links to anyone, including Kyr stored in the helmet. It was yet another thing Freedom would have to work on, and soon. Popping the seal on his helmet Freedom pulled it off and sat down next to an ancillary plug in port. Plugging the helmet into the Final Ceremony’s computer Freedom went to work. He flipped the helmet upside down using a datapad to project the HUD image in a more viewable way and downloaded the HUD calibration program to the datapad. Running a diagnostic he worked quickly setting the various menus to his preferences.

Targeting, tracking, range-finding and suit system diagnostics were all run on the helmet as well as syching the helmet to the suit. Lastly Freedom downloaded the specific helmet comm channels for each member of the Aden Clan, adding the team channels for the Mandalorian Protectors and Shadow Warriors. In close proximity there would be no need for them but not having them when they were needed could prove costly. Unplugging his helmet from the ships computer Freedom slid the slim datapad into one of the many pouches in his armor and went to get a drink.

The Star's End reverted from hyperspace, having arrived at it's destination. It had been a long journey from Misery since Aeorn had gotten word from Mandalore of what was going on with his people and what was being asked of him. He was in the cockpit of the modified freighter and he smiled when saw the planet. Next to him, Nell Morrows cocked her head to the side, regarding the planet. It had been a while since she had been here. It had been during the Xen'Chi war. That was when she had met Aeorn. "You didn't explain to me why exactly you decided to come back." Nell said, breaking the silence.

"What, you didn't want a change of pace from Kamino and Misery?" Aeorn asked.

"That non withstanding, you said that we had to leave as soon as possible. You barely gave any explanation to the Muir." She replied.

"I came back, because I needed to come back. I was asked to come back." Aeorn said. "I have a job to do and I'm going to do it." He said. "Take us down, Nell, please." He said, before rising and heading out of the cockpit.

She just shook her head slowly, and grabbed the controls once more. She hadn't seen him like this since the Xen'Chi war. Sure that was when she'd started liking him, but still, when eh was in his Mandalorian full on war mode, he had a tendency to get very very cold and short with everyone around him, as though they should understand that things just needed to get done and couldn't be talked out before hand. At least in the past, he'd been willing to talk to her about what was going on. With a sigh, she started their approach to Mandalore, starting a communications channel with the defense forces to tell them that it was the Star's End. She had a feeling they'd probably remember the ship from the Xen'Chi War days, but she passed along that Aeorn was on board for good measure.

OOC: Sorry it took so long. Been trying to come up with a good post... but, alas, this will have to do.

IC:

Karric Nayms sat at his desk, evaluating the recent information he had received from the various operations that MandalMotors held. "Sir, the delivery has arrived," someone told him. Karric looked up and nodded at the other, before the man disappeared and brought back with him an R3 unit. The MandalMotors CEO motioned the man away, and looked at the droid.

"I take it you have a message for me from the Hutt," he said. The droid whistled in response and the holo display of Zergal appeared before him.

The message detailed the request for a starfighter from MandalMotors to assist the Hutt in his growing empire. After Karric received the specifics, he sat in silence for a moment. "Return to your master with this message." He waited a moment until the droid was ready. "MandalMotors will design and construct a ship for Zergal the Hutt. However, this particular request will take time. I will contact Zergal when we have schematics drawn and a quote. Based on the information given, I can currently estimate the fighter's cost anywhere from one hundred thousand to one-fifty. However, without the research teams looking into this, this is all I can offer you. You can expect the excellence of previous MandalMotors designs to carry through in this order."

Karric shooed the droid away, and waited until the R3 unit left his office, before he activated his comm. "Get me R&D," he said.

OOC: This post takes place after the Rimma War. Yep, that's right. I got permission from Halo to summarize and narrate the whole thing. When kashus and/or Vox returns, we might go back and fully RP it out. But, as it stands, there's no way it would ever be finished up if it were just me doing it. I was originally going to bring forth a detailed narrative, but there's other things to address with this post. As such, you can read about what was discussed, and agreed upon, here. I (and, possibly, kashus, or any other Imperial RPer) will get to updating it in time.

IC:

Garen and the rest of the Mandalorians that were not designated to stay behind after their series of attacks on the Rimma Trade Route had returned from their campaign against the Empire. He was tired. Tired, battered, and somewhat broken. The Empire had put up a good fight, and he lost many Mandalorians and Mandalorian resources to ensure victory. Not less than half the fleet and a third of their ground forces had fallen by the end of the bloodbath that was at Fondor. In the end, however, the Empire ceded control of the territories to the Mandalorians, in exchange for a cease fire and complete withdrawal to their forces along the Outer Rim.

Needless to say, given how this situation began, Garen was not too trusting of their adversaries' actions. It did mean the end of the war, however, which benefited the Mandalorians more than continued fighting would. Some of the more hardened, traditionalist, Mandalorians rebutted his methods of ending the conflict, arguing that it was not their way, that they should not have accepted such means to victory. Garen countered that, had it not happened, their losses would have either been far more severe, or they could have wound up in defeat. Both scenarios were far worse than accepting terms of victory.

And so he sat down at the meeting with the rest of the Council. There had been talks of potential division, and he did not like division among the Mandalorians. His Mandalorians. He had a promise to keep; he gave Blackthorne his word. Cadden's works would continue in Garen's hands. "Mand'alor," Karric spoke up. He was the first. "We have finished the schematics for the Hutts. The designs pass our qualifications, and have gone into their consideration. The result, dubbed the M21-G1 Massiff Fighter, will surely provide us a healthy stream of income."

Garen nodded. His fatigue was showing, but he held no doubt that he did not need to hide it among these men. "Very good," he said. "Hopefully we can recover from this whole debacle with the Empire in a timely fashion."

Karric cleared his throat. "About that, Mand'alor," he said. Garen looked at him, waiting for what he figured to be bad news. "During the campaign on the Rimma Trade Route, our forces here began to clean up operations. The Empire hit us hard, as you know. During salvage operations and debris removal, we discovered several rather large lodes of beskar ore north of Enceri." The look went from expectancy to perplexity.

"How much are we talking about?" he asked.

"Enough to fund several full scale wartime operations."

"With the finding of this beskar ore, we can begin the rebuilding of our forces," Karric suggested.

"And training of new recruits," Garen added. With real armor. Armor made from beskar. This was exactly the kind of news that sparked extra life in Garen's eyes. His intensity returned, as though nothing ever happened to begin with. "Is the Kotir ready for production?"

Karric nodded. "We only await the word."

"Jesik, I want you to oversee the rebuilding operations of our fleet," he ordered. "I will contact the regional leaders along the Rimma Trade Route to initiate recruiting sessions on their respected worlds." He paused a moment. They would require funding for these operations. The building of a fleet was no cheap task, and he fully expected the Empire to launch a counter offensive against them. "I want better figures on the amount of beskar ore we have. No doubt, there are those out there that would love to get their hands on some of their own, and are willing to pay a healthy sum of credits for it."

It was decided, then. When the Council meeting had concluded, Garen opted to return to his homestead and get some well-deserved rest. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

A couple days had passed, and the recovery efforts from their time along the Rimma Trade Route were going well. However, there was a rising amount of unrest from the clans in the territories of Mandalore. The Council had notified Garen Starfall that many chieftains were demanding an official gathering in light of recent events. The notion was unsettling to the Mand'alor, for there were very few instances that such demands were made, and given what had transpired over the past couple months, the possibilities of what the gathering would be about were narrowed to only a select few.

Starfall entered MandalMotors Hall, a charcoal-gray building made of granite, located in the capital city of Keldabe. It had been donated to the community by the MandalMotors company, and served as a meeting place for Mandalorian clan chieftains to discuss matters of importance, either amongst themselves or with the Mand'alor. Garen was still a bit of a traditionalist when it came to such things, and even in this meeting, which was by far not the first one he had held or attended at MandalMotors Hall, missed the earlier days in the Crusade when the clan chieftains and other leaders of the Mandalorian culture assembled in the Oyu'baat.

He came upon the gathering, which he quickly realized included more than just chieftains. He noted the members of the Council being present, as well as several notable Mandalorian veterans as well as Karric Nayms and other company leaders. His eyes narrowed underneath his helmet in response to not just this unexpected sight, but also the loud commotion of the assembled arguing about anything they could find something to have differences over.

He held up his closed fist in silence, and slowly the commotion died, as the group turned its focus to the one person on Mandalore that was considered the ultimate authority on the planet. The Mand'alor. He observed the group with a slight level of disgust, the impression of this being a meeting with the chieftains quickly fading, and the possibilities of what was to transpire narrowed down to but one logical explanation. He took note of the growing diversity among their ranks. Not just humans of different colors and backgrounds, but even Mandallians, Togorians, Devaronians, and others. Species didn't matter much to Mandalorians. Culture defined them.

"Oya!" he heard the hall start up, slowly, softly at first, then then began to grow in intensity. "Oya!" It was a word with a hundred meanings for Mandalorians. In the context of the gathering, however, it meant something akin to, "Let's go, let's get on with it." They always started their gatherings this way, and this was the nearest Mandalorians ever came to a senate. They didn't go in for procedural nicety.

A scarred and worn down chieftain was the first to break words. "Mand'alor," he began, "we have fought for the Jedi with no gain. We have helped the galaxy defend itself against the Xen'Chi, with little to show for. The Empire broke its truce with us, and we responded in kind. The fire in our warrior spirit burns strong. Are we going to keep fighting, or what?"

There was a sudden uproar of mixed responses, a majority of which were in agreement with the chieftain's words.

"A new truce was struck with the Empire," Garen declared. "The fighting along the Rimma is over, and the territories are ours. Economic revival is now within our reach. To press the fight against the Empire in their own heartland would be a mistake. So who, then, should we fight?" Garen looked around at the assembled. "The New Republic? The Sith? Some Force-forsaken pit on the Rim?"

"There's never been a war we haven't fought in," another shouted from the gathered. "The declaration to end the war against the Cult of Shadow has been made by the allied forces assembled against them. We should bring glory and honor to Manda'yaim and bring down Sivter's little club!"

"This isn't our fight." Garen distinctly recalled Cadden's warnings to them when he last visited the planet. Sivter was not the concern they ought to focus on. He knew he would get some heat from what he was about to say, but he also knew it was what had to be said. "Mandalore's got its own troubles. We should be preparing for something more dire than Sivter and the Cult of Shadow. Something far more threatening. We were warned of the impending threat of the Sith, that is where our focus should be."

"You're going to place your trust in a man who abandoned us in favor of his own personal gain?" a chieftain asked. "Blackthorne is Dar'manda. No Mandalorian ought to be serving as his own personal lapdog!"

Garen flared at the accusation. "And what would you do?" he demanded. "If you believe you can lead the clans better than I, feel free to step forth and take the title of Mand'alor from me!" There was a moment of silence as he watched his accuser intently. When no further challenge was to be made, he continued. "Some of you may consider Blackthorne Dar'manda. That is your prerogative. However, he has provided us with useful information, and even warned us of the impending Imperial attack. Yet he was not speaking of the Empire when he warned us of a far more powerful threat on the horizon than the Cult of Shadow. We will not needlessly get ourselves involved in this war, when we have our own rebuilding and recovery to tend to."

"And what if this alliance against Sivter fails?" another asked. "Their troubles might come and find us."

He considered the statement for a moment, and leaned against the wall several meters from the entrance. Finally, he spoke. "What's the first rule of warfare?"

The gathered leaders of Mandalorian society - or, at least, as many as could get to Keldabe - watched him carefully. Even the head of MandalMotors, Karric Nayms, wore traditional armor. Most had taken off their helmets, but some hadn't. That was okay by Garen. He kept his on, too.

"What's in it for us," said a human man, leaning back in a makeshift chair. "Second rule is how much is in it for us."

"So... what is in it for us this time?"

Us. Garen was Mand'alor, chieftain of chieftains, commander of supercommandos, and he couldn't avoid the us any longer. He didn't feel like us. He felt like an absent husband who'd sneaked home to find an angry wife demanding to know where he'd been all night, not sure how to head off the inevitable argument. They made him feel uncomfortable. He examined the feeling to see what was causing it.

This was something that was forced upon me, he realized.

He might have been one of Blackthorne's best generals and warriors, but he didn't think he was the best Mandalore, and that unsettled him because he had never been simply adequate. He expected to excel. He'd taken on the job, albeit reluctantly; now he had to live up to the title, which was much, much easier in war than in peacetime.

Fenn Shysa must have thought he could do it, though. Blackthorne surely was able to pull it off, though Garen somehow doubted that his predecessor found it any simple task, either.

The Mando shrugged. "Credits, Mand'alor. We need currency, in case you hadn't noticed."

"To spend on importing food."

"That's the idea."

Garen thought on this a moment. "We are marketing the recent finding of beskar," he noted, "and there are already bidders for the iron in place. What is being ordered will bring in a healthy sum of credits. Enough to build up our fleet, and start supplying new armor to our Supercommandos. Real Mando armor. The influx of income from the beskar, as well as our control of the bacta industry, will bolster our economy well enough." Though he had yet to make a sound decision with the Fondor shipyards. They didn't have enough manpower to bring those operations to full scale while, at the same time, adequately defending their own territories. "The issue of currency will soon be solved."

"I'm with the Mand'alor on this," said a gruff and edgy male voice at the back of the assembly. Starfall recognized that one: Kyr Aden. He was not sporting his Spectre armor, yet his helmet was on, which caused Garen to take a moment to match the voice to the face. "We lost nearly a million and a half people fighting the Xennies and the Imps. That might be small change for places like Coruscant, but it's a disaster for us. No more. Not until we get Manda'yaim in order. We'll eat bas neral if we have to."

A murmur of rumbling agreement rippled around the hall. A few chieftains slapped their gauntlets on their armor in approval.

"You wanted a decision from me. You got it." Garen felt his patience wearing thin. Something about the war against the Empire had touched him, perhaps even changed him. Every bone in his body ached right through to his spine, yet there was no pain nor discomfort. It was an ache for battle, for blood. The Mandalorians wanted more than just a taste of it, and those that saw Mandalore as coming first would not settle for remaining as canon fodder. "Who we fight against... do you think it's going to make any difference to us?"

"No," said another voice, thick with a northern Concordian accent. "The galaxy won't be asking us to disarm anytime soon. They might need us if they get another Xennie war."

"And what if the war comes too close to home?" another asked. "What if it spreads to a neighboring system or two?"

"Even if we uphold our end of the agreement with the Empire, what's to say they won't turn on us and assault another of our holdings?" The thought had crossed Garen's mind on more than one occasion since the Rimma.

"It's not cease fire they want," he said, "they just wanted to save face. I do not expect them to back down so easily."

There was a sudden break of argumentation in the assembled groups. Many were in favor of bolstering their own ranks, while others wished to see war and bloodshed. Garen saw no common ground amongst the chieftains and other leaders in the hall. He simply watched for a moment. It was both uplifting and entertaining in its way. It was the kind of decision-making process that could happen only in a small population of ferociously independent people who knew immediately when it was time to stop being individuals and come together as a nation.

Ironic, he thought. We call ourselves a nation, but that's the last thing we really are. Sometimes we fight on different sides. We're scattered around the galaxy. We're not even one species. But we know what we are and what we want, and that's not going to change anytime soon.

The arguments were all coming down to one thing. A lot of people needed the credits. Times were still tough. Many of them were willing to spill blood for the income, and most of the Mandalorians could agree that waiting on business transactions was not sufficient enough.

Garen brought his fist down hard on the nearest solid surface - a small table - and the crack brought the hubbub of discussion to a halt.

"Mandalore has no position on the current war, and there'll be no divisions over it," he said. "Anyone who wants to sell their services individually to either side - that's your business. But not in Mandalore's name." He braced for the eruption of argument from the sudden silence, thumbs hooked in his belt.

To his surprise, there was none.

"That's all we needed to know," another said, a dark-skinned Mandalorian who had seen more than his fair share of battle. Across his face was a deep-running scar, from the upper right cheekbone to the lower left jaw, piercing through his thick lips. A scar that, no doubt was caused by a Xen'Chi and his srraka blade. "That there's no ban on mercenary work."

"There is another option," he said. His warrior spirit had been touched by the sieges along the Rimma, and perhaps what he was about to say would satisfy all. "We mobilize for our own war. A new crusade. What we expect to be making from the beskar and the bacta will easily provide the financial backing for such an endeavor."

"So we send our men and women off to die on some other rock." Everyone looked around at the man with the scar. "Hardly conducive to restoring the nation, is it?"

"Fighting's our number one export," he retorted. "War is our trade, and what we do best. You got a better idea?"

"Critical mass, Mand'alor." The dark-skinned man's voice had the tone of someone who'd argued this many times before. "We have a population of fewer than four million here, and maybe as many as three times that in diaspora. We lost a lot of our best troops, our farmland's been scorched, and our industrial infrastructure is still shot to harem after ten years. So maybe this is the ideal time to bring some people home. Gather in the exiles while the rest of the galaxy is busy."

Another man spoke up. He remembered his name as Jaran. "Yeah, group up to make a nice easy target. All of us in one place." Garen was temporarily forgotten.

"Nobody except the Xennies and Imps has attacked us in a long time."

"The Empire gutted us several years ago. You've got a short memory. Or maybe you were still in diapers when Shysa had to kick some pride back into us. We could only expect history to repeat itself. Maybe the word of our new beskar getting out to them would bring about a return assault force to strip us out again."

"Son, we are the shabla government," Jaran said. "So what do you want to do about it?"

"Consolidate Mandalore and the sector. Bring our people home, and build something nobody's ever going to overrun again." The dark-skinned man had a faint accent; a little Coruscanti, a little Keldabian. "A citadel. A power base. So we choose when we stay home and when we go expeditionary."

"Funny, I thought that was just what we were doing."

Garen watched the exchange, fascinated. Then he realized everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to respond - or at least to call a halt. So this was leadership off the battlefield. It was just like running a business, only more... complex. More variables, more unknowns, and responsibility for other people, millions of them, but people who could take care of themselves and ran the place well enough without any bureaucracy.

Or me. Do they need me at all?

"What's your name?" he asked.

The dark-skinned man was leaning against the wall, but he pushed himself away from it with a shrug to stand upright. "Ghent," he said.

"Okay, Ghent, it's policy as of now. I'm asking for two million folks to return to Mandalore. How many you think we'll get?" It made sense: the planet needed a working population. It needed extra hands to clean up the soil that the Xennies and Imps had devastated and to cultivate the land left fallow by dead owners. But every Mandalorian in the galaxy didn't add up to a single town on many planets. "We're still short on credits until we become self-sufficient in food production again."

"We'll contribute half our profits," said the MandalMotors chief. "As long as we can sell fighters and equipment to any side, of course."

"Aside from the designs to which we use exclusively, and those which we hold exclusive agreements with other nations. Business is business."

"And what about our strength to aruetyc?" Jaran asked. "Are we to project an image of dormancy to the galaxy? Might as well paint a large target on Keldabe and declare, 'Here we are, come get us if you think you got what it takes!' This sudden withdrawal won't exactly relay the message that we can hold our own in a fight."

"Then we show the galaxy we can still fight," Garen suggested. "Take up arms, find a target. But for that, we need to be ready, which means we need time to lick our wounds. In the meanwhile, anyone who wishes to contract themselves out as mercenary work may do so."

Jaran looked around him as if to single out anyone mad enough to dissent, but everyone had what they wanted from the meeting.

"Then it's settled," Garen said. "We will rest and tend to our wounds from the war against the Empire. Mandalorians are to be called back to tend to the lands so that we can become self-sustainable again. We shall discuss the dealings of battle when our affairs on the planet are settled." He paused for a moment, to let the order sink in. "One last thing." Full attention came to him. "I'm going to be away from base for a few days. This mess on Fondor needs to be sorted out. While I'm away, Nedth Dinsan stands in for me."

There was no dissent. Nedth was solid and trustworthy, and he didn't want to be Mandalore. He was also a fierce warrior and was not intimidated by any foe. Any argument about the new policy in Garen's absence wouldn't last long.

"We're done here," said Jaran. "You give me the inventory of all the farmland in waste, and my clan will make sure it gets allocated to whoever returns to farm it." He hung back for a moment and made an exaggerated job of replacing his helmet.

"Nobody has to listen to me if they don't feel like it."

"Never known you to stay out of a fight. You've got your reasons. That's why we're listening."

As the hall cleared, Valery was left standing alone, arms folded, leaning against the wall. "I wonder if Leia Organa Solo has such an easy time in the Senate," she said.

Garen snorted. "Mandalorians can't be ruled," he argued. "But we're open to suggestions, and since when have we ever shied away from what makes sense?" Valery approached him and he welcomed her in his embrace. "This agreement won't last long," he noted. "Soon, there will be call for blood."

The message had come through rather quickly after the Battle of Mon Calamari. It had been bounced from a few different channels, but in the end it had reached Mandalore encrypted and safe and secure. The message had been simple, from Korr Treniun, the head of New Republic Intelligence. The organization had been working on a number of different things to ensure that the upcoming battle against Sivter went the way that the New Republic wanted it to. The word had reached the NRI that Oremin had something big. Treniun had anticipated it being the location of the Cult of Shadow's system and so he had sent this message out. The New Republic needed something heavy for this battle. And they needed something that Sivter wouldn't be able to anticipate himself. That meant going outside of their normal arsenal, outside of the normal bag of tricks. Treniun had figured that Mandalorians would be the trick. So he'd sent the message. It had been brief and to the point. There were incentives for any and all Mandalorians who were willing and able to meet up with the Combined Defense Forces of the New Republic and head to an unknown destination where Sivter would be.

He had made sure to include enough vague references to glory in combat to incentivize the Mandalorians even more. Outside of that, there had been the promise of payment, which he had used NRI personal funds for, in order to keep the number of people who knew about this to a minimum.

It was agreed between the Trade Monarch of the Federation of the Allied Systems and his defence&goverment council to destroy all political enemies within the systems of the goverment before the official anouncement of the foundation of the F.A.S. Leroy Lesdraid the man for all the difficult missions in the most unfriendly enviroments was given the task to locate the best mercenaries he could find and bring them as soon as possible on Cato Neimoidia for the murders of the goverments enemies.

Lesdraid had his contacts within the bounty hunters and merceneries world and could easily get to the choice of a group of Mandalorian's merceneries. He was travveling to Mandalore for 3 days when he finally landed. No Magna Guards for him as all the superior high profile figures did but only himself and his gear. He landed the shetiphede class modificated shuttle on an agreed location with the group and messaged them so now he was waiting for update on how to move.

They were contacted in advance of the job contract. Many Mandalorians had refused it, citing that it dove too deep into politics for their liking. However, for those such as Durus Ferrum, who was renowned for his brutal tactics, it was an opportunity to make a few extra credits.

With him were some of Mandalore's roughest members, willing to do the dirty deeds of another's nation for the right price. They didn't much care for the Mandalore first movement that was on the table, but at the same time they did not oppose it. They were nothing more than free agents, willing to go where the credits took them. The only man that he recognized in the small ragtag group was a supercommando known as Ge'tal Senaar, who has quite the reputation from not only his homeworld of Concord Dawn but also from across the galaxy.

Durus remembered the year when Ge'tal returned to the planet all too well. Concord Dawn was in a moment of dissent, torn apart from the lack of a Mandalore to unify the various clans. It was at this point that Ge'tal had returned to the world and, seeing the corruption that a local warlord had placed upon the Mandalorian people of the planet, raised an army to overthrow the man. If it weren't for his advocacy against the position, the people of Concord Dawn would have declared him their new Mandalore.

He wondered how different things would have been if it were Ge'tal, instead of Blackthorne, who reunited the clans, brought the Mandalorians to their new purpose.

There were not more than a handful of Mandalorians who wound up taking the Federation's job. It was all that would be allowed by their employer, even if more did want to pursue the mission. There was no honor, nor glory, involved. In fact, most of them simply had credits in mind. Most, because they recognized that, until the Protectors could become autonomous once more, they would need to import the necessities to survive. For those such as Durus and Ge'tal, who resided on Concord Dawn, it was what they could do to restore the Protectors, and bring in a little income of their own.

The Mandalorians arrived at the rendezvous point, fully armed and covered head to toe in their individually distinguished armor. Durus's armor sported no deviation from its blood-red design, meant to strike fear in his enemies. Ge'tal's armor was simpler, a heavier variant of what one would typically see a Mandalorian sport, with a predominately white color scheme. Others in the group sported green or blue armor, one even was donned in black and gold. It was an interesting sight for an outsider to see, and immediately displayed their peoples' fierce independence. It could be seen as a form of chaos, reflecting on no real rank hierarchy or structure to speak of, but at the same time it was interestingly ordered. A point that very few got to witness firsthand.

They stopped short of the craft, and waited for their employer to show himself. some of them, Durus included, had their weapons in hand, ready to respond if need be, in a standby fashion. None of them expected any hostility from this individual, but a history of Mandalorians simply being used by other governments offered no small contribution to their distrust in outsiders.

Lesdraid saw from the cockpit the Mandalorians and got down the ramp before them. No doubt he was the best to make the first touch and bring them on FAS territory. He was not a politian neither a person keen to pleasenties just a paid assasin doing an extensive and high profile deal now after so many years with the Federation of the Allied Systems. He saw them and merely gave a smile then extended his hand.

''Hello, Leroy Lesdraid, in behalf of the Trade Monarch i believe you are the Mandalorians that acepted the job right?'' He waited for them to shook his hand and reply.

Mandalorian weddings were supposed to be unceremonious affairs. A few words between two individuals, maybe with a few witnesses. This, however; was nothing like Mandalore had seen in quite some time. Kyr Aden had taken it upon himself to make his daughter’s wedding as much of an event as it could be, even if neither she nor her fiancé wanted it to be one. Had either of them had their way their vows would have been exchanged by the hearth in the family’s home. Standing in the Aden family store house Freedom flexed his hands. Fyjati Bralor stood off to the side, his own wife, Nomi, was with Kera somewhere else on the Aden farm undoubtedly doing whatever Kera’s mother, Nasrey, had tasked her with.

Freedom’s eyes were closed, armor stacked in a neat pile. A slight smirk adorned the man’s face as he rolled his head flexing his neck muscles. Calling on the Force he felt it fill him, each cell in his body rejoicing as the air around him seemed to shimmer. Eyes widening Fyjati shook his head. Calling his lightsabers to him Freedom ignited both and he swung both in a slow arc. Eyeing Fyjati he waited until the Shadow Warrior grabbed the two srraka blades set beside the Jedi’s armor. While not as adept at the weapons as his counterpart Fyjati knew that Freedom would allow no harm to come to either of them.

Allowing Fyjati to attack Freedom parried the blades away easily, striking back with an overhead, horizontal slash combination. Fyjati blocked the first strike and spun inside the second slashing with his inside blade toward Freedom’s ribs. Twisting the blade in his left hand Freedom deftly blocked the attack and laughed spinning away. Resetting themselves Freedom reset himself while Fyjati circled. “You know Kera will kill me if I hurt you.”

“So will I.” Kyr’s voiced filled the store house as he entered, fully armored in traditional Mandalorian beskar’gam, helmet under his left arm. “You two got a suicide wish? I don’t think this is the best time to be playing with your toys.”

Freedom didn’t turn around and instead moved quickly striking at Fyjati with four quick moves. The hum of his blades made a stark contrast to the lack of any response to strikes by the srraka blades. Laughing the Jedi watched as Fyjati deflected each one and then saw Freedom throw a punch at the end. Ducking under the blow Fyjati spun a kick at Freedom’s midsection. Using the Force to propel the leg away from him Freedom flipped sideways and landed, his left blade held in the reverse position and the right held over his head pointed toward Fyjati. Narrowing his eyes Freedom heard Kyr speak again and yet again charged Fyjati. Ducking the attack Fyjati felt Kyr approach from behind him and moved as the elder statesmen of the Aden clan entered the fray. Blocking two attacks by Freedom with his gauntlets Kyr looked into Freedom’s eyes and saw nothing but focus and joy. Staying on the defensive Kyr let Freedom attack a few more times before striking back. Two quick punches, a low kick and a spinning high kick, each dodged or countered.

They continued their dance for a few more minutes and then Kyr stopped. Chest heaving Freedom’s eyes were full of energy and life. The Force sparked off of him and he smiled as sweat ran down face, dripping from his nose, chin and ears. Looking into Kyr’s eyes the Jedi saw the look of pure enjoyment dominating the man’s face. Turning off his lightsabers Freedom smacked Kyr on the shoulders. “A little fight always helps to clear the mind buir, never underestimate the powers of adrenaline.”

Smiling himself Kyr nodded. Frell this kid is getting good. He’d never admit it but Freedom was beginning to push him to his limit, he’d never met a man capable of doing so, including the Jedi’s he’d hunted. “Suit up, it’s time.”

Freedom nodded and wiping the sweat from his face. Working in a practiced motion Freedom set each piece of armor out and slid his feet into his boots. Clipping his leg armor into place he let his mind wander. He wondered if Cameo Naton would have been here if he were still alive. If Veronica would have been present had he not completely turned her against him after his run in with the dark side. Frowning for a second Freedom thought of Cal, his most adamant of friends within the Jedi Order and also at the end his greatest opponent. Would Cal have attended if Freedom had not been forced to kill him?

Each question pulled on Freedom’s heart strings in different ways. Each took a bit of happiness with it. Standing Freedom clipped his right shoulder armor in place. Grabbing his left plate a hand stopped him. Freedom looked at the mottled blue-green pattern that covered the gauntlets . The pattern reminded Freedom of his own armor but he immediately recognized it as Kyr’s gauntlet. Looking up Freedom was pulled from his thoughts looking into the face of his adoptive father. Kyr’s eyes found the Jedi’s for only a second but spoke volumes. Forget your past ad, son, it is no longer yours to carry.

Freedom let out a breath and Kyr put the left armor plate down. Pulling off his own Kyr clipped the plate in place, the Aden family crest adorned the center of the plate, its dark blue blending seamlessly into Freedom’s own dark blue and black armor. Eyeing the man Freedom watched as Kyr grabbed Freedom’s back plate and with Fyjati’s help the men clipped the Mandalorian beskar’gam in place. Finally Freedom stood and watched as both Fyjati and Kyr put his chest piece in place. Bouncing on his toes Freedom let the armor settle and Kyr looked him in the eyes, holding his gauntlets. “Remember Freedom aliit ori'shya tal'din.. You are part of our family now.”

Kyr’s usage of the ancient Mandalorian saying regarding family meant more to a Mandalorian than blood brought Freedom fully around to the present. Grabbing the first gauntlet from Kyr he slid it on and squeezed flexing the glove and tightening it around his forearm. Various lights came on as the gauntlet ran a diagnostic of the suit awaiting the other gauntlet and the helmet before transferring control to his buy’ce. Taking the second gauntlet from Kyr Freedom noticed a difference in its pattern. It was not solid dark blue but instead a mottled dark blue and forest green. Looking to Kyr he raised an eyebrow. “Yours?”

Nodding Kyr nodded over to Freedom’s other gauntlet. “It was, just as that gauntlet shall be passed down to your son. The bond of a Mandalorian father and son goes beyond what’s in here.”
Kyr tapped his fist to his chest plate and then Freedom’s for emphasis. “It is not common for family members to wear a piece of another family members armor once they die. Our clan, our alit has another tradition however. My father gave me one of his gauntlets upon my becoming a man, his father did as well. He instructed me that when my son’s reached adulthood to carry on the tradition. Jahaal my first son to reach adulthood, you are the second. Each of you has one of my gauntlet’s. Each of you will carry on the tradition of your clan.”

Dropping his head to look at the gauntlet Freedom slid it on and grabbed his buy’ce. Looking down into the helmet Freedom saw the various screens lighting up. Clipping it to his belt Kyr grabbed Freedom by the shoulder once more and stopped him. Fyjati continued walking out of the building taking up position outside. Kyr looked at Freedom and offered him his gauntlet. Grasping it the two gripped each other’s forearms tightly and Kyr spoke once more. "Freedom. We've been through a lot together, and now you have your chance for a cin vhetin, a new start. You are Mando'ad, now. You have completed all but one of the Resol'nare.”

Kyr put his other hand on Freedom’s shoulder and smiled. ”Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la, Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.”

Releasing Freedom Kyr stepped out of the store house with Freedom close behind. Looking around Freedom saw the moderate gathering of people, each wearing Mandalorian armor of various designs though mostly wore the traditional beskar’gam that had become the visible calling card of Mandalore itself. Deegan, Jat'kar Torbin, and other Shadow Warriors dominated the crowds they stood in. Not because any other Mandalorian’s were less intimidating, but the Shadow Warriors were more demonstratively equipped then the rest. Others wore blasters, jet packs and various other traditional armaments. The Shadow Warriors were decked out in full combat regalia. Rocket launchers, blaster rifles, shock wands, bowcasters, slug throwers of several sizes. Urgen was even sporting his always unreliable yet always carried triple tap gauss gun slung over his back.

Kyr, Fyjati and Freedom each carried most of their weaponry as well, though Fyjati and Kyr left their heavier equipment back at their respective armories. Freedom wore both his blasters, his custom Mandalorian made slug throwers, two srraka blades, two blaster pistols attached neatly to his rear back plate and both of his lightsabers. None of this would be needed today yet both and Kera agreed that if they were going to get married, they were going to do so in near full battle armament. I nod to those who had not made it back from various battlefields who would have been here to see them married otherwise.

Making their way through the crowd every Mandalorian they passed brought gauntlet to chest in a salute, Kyr pointed out they were saluting Freedom, not him. Awed by the sheer reverence that was being given to the wedding Freedom saw many faces he didn’t know, a few he knew by voice recognition and the rest were family friends and relatives. Smiling Freedom greeted Jahaal, Kera’s older brother, and the two laughed for a few moments before the crowd fell silent. Freedom, Jahaal, Fyjati and Kyr all turned and saw Kera walking toward them. There was no formality to the event, at least in aruetiise terms, Freedom smiled, Kyr grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the slightly raised platform and the Jedi let himself get dragged. Kera wore her traditional red over black Mandalorian armor. Over top of the armor she wore a hooded half cloak that came down to her waist. Silver in color it contrasted with her armor yet clearly held some significance as Kera glowed far more than she would have normally.

Nasrey followed behind her on her left, Nomi on her right. There were no formal bridesmaids, groomsmen or the like. No pastors, preachers or priests. Freedom and Kera stood looking at each other for a few moments, Kyr spoke briefly and then Kera and Freedom became the center of attention. Looking at each other Kera smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling and joy radiated from within her. Freedom crackled here and there with the Force, his eyes glowed and he shook with excitement. He could feel her heart beating as if it were his own, her emotions of happiness crashed against his through the Force creating a giant well of unparalleled exhilaration. Grabbing Kera’s hands Freedom looked at her, his eyes narrowed for a moment and he felt her yet again fully through the Force.

She had once stated she wished she could feel what he felt, the pure feeling of how she felt to him through the Force. He had tried to explain it to her, to show her through various means but finally he had given in and sent a message to an old friend. Long ago Jedi were able to project emotions, feels, for very short periods of time. While Zeltron Jedi were known to all be able to use this skill, through genetic engineering, other Jedi had the ability through training. Freedom wanted nothing to do with the skill, he knew he had one goal for it and after that it would pass into his vast reservoir of lost knowledge. It would be the first of two of his gifts to Kera on their wedding day.

Searching her eyes he found her core, her true soul as it were and latched onto it. Using the Force he focused on Kera even more. He felt her gasp, her eyes widened and she started to laugh, then became quite. Her mouth opened slightly and a tear ran down her face. Freedom slowly let go of her through the Force and then looked at her again. Focusing once more he smirked and pushed out with his mind again. Instead of showing Kera herself through the Force he showed her himself. Her eyes once again widened, she gasped again and her eyes began to water. Behind him he heard Kyr and Nasrey talking quietly and Fyjati’s voice interjected. He had informed Fyjati of his plan, just in case someone got uncomfortable with their silence.

Kera leaned forward and Freedom met her half way. Placing his forehead against the very top of her forehead Freedom released her and she sighed happily. Tilting her head back she stood on her tiptoes and whispered into Freedom’s ear. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Freedom’s voice cracked, emotions rolling over him like the great oceans of Mon Calamari. His life would never be the same after this moment, he would be joined to another person for life, for eternity if the Force and the Manda saw fit. Tilting his head slightly Freedom spoke into Kera’s left ear, a near whisper layered in emotion with every ounce of love he felt in his heart. "We are one when together. we are one when parted. We will share all. We will raise warriors. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Pulling away slightly Freedom felt Kera’s hands slide to either side of his face while he wrapped his arms around her back pulling her tightly to him. Threatening to crush her against his chest he lifted her as their lips met an explosion of emotion and relief flooded both of them as Freedom reached out through the Force to her, mentally allowing her to feel through the Force what he felt, showing her one last time exactly what he saw and felt in that moment through the Force. Love radiated between the two as Kyr and Fyjati finally separated the two. Parting reluctantly Kera was breathless, Freedom overwhelmed yet both had smiles upon their faces. A cheer rang out from the gathered Mandalorian’s and as the two were greeted by those in attendance Fyjati leaned over to both of them. “If you think the party we threw after the victory of the Rimma War was something, just wait. Mandalorian parties for weddings are something that not even the aruetiise on Coruscant could top when the Emperor died.”

Durus just looked at the man with his hand extended, yet did not offer his in return. Aruetiise. They didn't understand their ways. He looked back at the small handful of others that were joining him on the mission. "Ori'buyce, kih'kovid," he said. The others got a chuckle out of it. Turning his attention back to the man, he continued in Basic, "Yeah, that's right. Our services don't come cheap, as you are no doubt aware, and I doubt we are getting paid for idle chit-chat."

Durus was a very to-the-point kind of man, and never much went for pleasantries. Most Mandalorians tended to be like this, as well, but even among his peers he was considered to be a bit rough around the edges. "No contract can adequately be filled without proper information. What is it your little Federation needs done?"

Leroy knew here not even basic things were passing. So he spoke their language.

''Ok lets speak your way, the Monarch wants some people out of the way....dead...dissapear..former goverment body members..QUIETLY...we want them out of the way the soon as possible and we picked you for the job.

Mind you will be paid handsomely i am a merc my self and i have rosen to a goverment position and indeed i am paid handsomely.''

Durus snorted. "We Mandos don't care for government standings and positions," he said. "We're here for one thing. The credits." Not many in the Protectors would have taken this job; this particular individual struck it lucky, what with all the reforms that had been going on since Blackthorne reunited the clans. The details were sparse, but they had figured out enough to know that it wasn't the kind of thing anyone would want to boast about on GNN. But Durus was unlike many of the Protectors. His warrior spirit was strong, and his resolve unquestionable. His loyalty to the Mand'alor was unwavering. Yet he also had a lust for battle, for blood, honor and glory. Some counted him as a wild card, reckless and without consideration of his actions. Yet, as with most things, they were but opinions of his vode. In the end, he yet followed the Resol'nare as well as any other Mandalorian, and when it came down to it, he was among his peers all the same.

If their contractors felt they could merely buy a Mandalorian's loyalty, they would have a nasty surprise coming. Maybe in the darker times of their history, this would have been the case, but now, they have a new Mand'alor, and a new purpose. No government agency would take away how much they have fought to earn.

Last edited by Cadden on Fri Mar 02, 2012 2:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.

"Lead on," Ge'tal said, thick with a Concordian accent. He nodded to Durus and clasped a hand on his shoulder, a non-verbal message was portrayed through that simple action, and he nudged himself by he vod and followed the Federation's representative onboard. While they could have taken their own transportation, it was agreed that it would have drawn unwanted attention. Something which the Federation, no doubt, was not too keen on. The rest of the Mandalorians followed.

Nadd-Aden Wedding

"I've found a use for Jedi!" Urgen Baar'ur bellowed. "I knew I would one day! Look!"

The line of ale bottles stretched the length of the duraplast trestle table in Kyr's crowded courtyard. Freedom concentrated, knowing how critical the timing would be. Then he inhaled slowly, stepped back, and Force-pulled all thirty caps off in a rapid sequence that popped and rattled like a Luit pyrocracker. Froth welled from the necks of the bottles; the guests showed their approval with shouts of "Oya!" and "Kandosii!," hammering their fists on the thigh plates of their armor.

Freedom took a bow. "Now you know why Jedi apprentices spend years in quiet contemplation and earnest study at the academy."

There was an uproar of laughter from the mass-gathering of guests. Kyr and Nasrey looked on at the wedding with a mild sense of amusement. This was a time of celebration, and as such, very few took things seriously. Freedom got to see firsthand, possibly for the first time, Urgen's sense of humor, and had easily reflected it. Their two striile were at their sides, sitting on their haunches, no doubt eagerly awaiting a handout or dropped scrap of food. Kyr caught glimpse of Jahaal starting up a song in Mando'a to which the attendees began to follow along to. Beviin even joined in on the festivities, his age hardly a determent to socializing with those around him. Nasrey wrapped her arms around Kyr's waist.

"You didn't have to bankrupt Manda'yaim just for Freedom," she said with a grin.

"Shi jatne dinui Kera," he responded with an equal grin. He didn't do this for Freedom, though to host such an eloquent party for his new ad, even if only by ceremony, was the least he could do all the same. The man had been without purpose, without a father figure, for who knows how long. Of course he deserved no less than this. But no, this was especially for his daughter. She was older than one would traditionally expect for marriage, but the fact that they had gone so far as this to celebrate the occasion only confirmed how much he cared for her.

Not that she needed it, but it was no doubt still comforting to know.

Freedom approached him from the crowd. "Ner ad," he said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, "you have become more than you can possibly imagine. While you have found your place, you have yet to find yourself. Trust in this," he put a closed fist against the part of Freedom's breastplate that covered his heart, "and, one day, you will find that a true Mando holds no limits."

OOC: You wanted a post, Vox, there's your post. I really got nothing else to add right now, alas. What I was wanting to do, really didn't happen, as... well... I'm not that motivated right now for it.

Morning came especially early for Freedom and Kera Nadd. Grumbling out a few words Kera let Freedom slide out from under her arm and then buried her head back into a pillow. Naked from the waist up, hair spread around her like a mane Freedom still found a reason to smile as his wife managed a disheveled smile from behind a grumpy, hung over mask. The sun had yet to rise and a slight chill hung in the air of the Aden house. Freedom pulled on a pair of cargo pants and searched his mind for the reason he had woken so early. Checking the chrono on Kera’s dresser he saw he had only been asleep for two hours, a feat considering how physically draining both yesterday and the previous night had been. Grabbing his lightsabers he tucked one into either pocket and looked to his wife. “Sleep, cyar’ika just going to take a look outside. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Eyes widening Kera had gotten used to heading any warning Freedom had gotten in the Force. “Want me to come?”

“No,’ Freedom shook his head to reiterate, ‘nothing bad about the feeling, just different.”

Eyeing him suspiciously Kera’s answer was a curling finger which he obliged upon and kissed her. “Whatever it is, it better be a damned army to pull my husband from this bed on his wedding night.”

Grinning he winked. “It won’t keep me long, whatever it is. It would take an army to keep me from you on any night, let alone that of our wedding.”

Padding out of the bedroom Freedom felt the strills stir and one lifted its head from by the fireplace, a small fire still burning to keep the temperature of the main room at a steady temperature. “Udesii, just going to take a peak outside.”

Laying its head back down the strill followed him with its eyes as Freedom walked out the door. Shrugging into his sweatshirt Freedom pulled up the hood to completely cover his head from the moderate breeze and walked toward the field where only hours before he had been standing with Kera. He looked around the field, reaching out with the Force and followed the telltale signs of something being amiss. Approaching the rock where he had sat over a year prior with Kyr listening Freedom looked around and felt a ripple through the Force. Drawing both lightsabers he felt more than saw the presence of an old friend. Quickly looking around he felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on him until he saw a blurry image of an old man. Opening his mouth the ghost beat him to his question. “You aren’t seeing things my young apprentice, it really is me.”

The sweet, moderate tone of his former master filled his ears. “Master…Naton?”

“Yes, Freedom.”

“I…how? You’ve been dead for years now?” Freedom’s voice was filled with a mixture of joy, confusion and utter disbelief.

“The Force does amazing things when it wants to. It even gave me my eyesight, imagine that! Had I known you were this ugly I would’ve made sure you learned to make yourself look far prettier in the Force!”

Laughing Cameo saw his former apprentice smile, a sight he had only seen in rare occasions. It made him swell with pride, yet also sadness, if that was what he was feeling. The Force was fickle when it came to allowing true emotions to be felt. Freedom sat on the rock and watched as Cameo seemed to peer right into his soul, like he had done many times before. Taking in his master he saw the same robes, traditional and completely old school. It brought Freedom back to the first time he had ever met the man. Lost, overwhelmed and completely feeling alone. Cameo had shown him the way, even painted him a map yet even then he couldn’t follow the directions given. “Why come now Master? I could have used you many times over the past few years?”
Intertwining his fingers Cameo approached and stood just off to the side of Freedom turning to look at the tree line in the distance. “Had I would you have become what you are? So full of life? So confident you border on arrogance? Completely in control of the Force in a way I never witnessed myself?”

Freedom thought for a moment and Cameo continued. “I’ll give you the answer Freedom. No, you wouldn’t. You found exactly what you needed, something the Order lacks though not due to lack of effort. It simply lacks it because it cannot provide the brotherhood, the family that you needed.”

Freedom watched as the ghost of his Jedi Master opened his arms and let out a sigh, for a brief moment it looked as if Cameo wished that the Order could have provided what the Mandalorian’s had. “You were always lost within the Order Freedom. You were never far from trouble, yet always willing to dive in if any of your friends were ever involved in any. A quality many would call noble, if anyone in the Order beyond a select few had gotten close to you. Instead you were an outcast in a time when the Jedi needed someone like you. A warrior first regardless of the consequences that have may come from it.”

Freedom raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like the elder statesmen of the Jedi Order I knew once upon a time.”

Cameo smirked. “There are layers to any person Freedom, those that they keep wrapped and those that are unwrapped.”

Nodding, satisfied with the answer Freedom sat silently as Cameo enjoyed a few more moments with him. “Master, even if I had to find this out after the facts why not show yourself sooner?”

Cameo yet again intertwined his fingers, an elder sage of a bygone era. “You would have leaned on me Freedom. Waited for my next appearance and wanted me to have all the answers. You found all the answers you needed, in more ways than I thought you would.”

Cameo eyed Freedom’s silver lightsaber and smiled. “I like the change, Mando’a, correct? You have found your home Freedom. I could never have envisioned this for you no matter how many times I wished for you to find your place in this galaxy. Did I ever think it would be you leaving the Order? No. I thought that perhaps you would eventually take up the mantle of a Watchmen. Now you truly are the epitome of a warrior. You have joined the greatest warrior culture in the galaxy. Together with their training and your own abilities in the Force you will become what you were destined to be, even if it is outside of the Jedi Order.”

Shifting uncomfortably Freedom felt Cameo’s eyes on him. “Ahhh…now we come to the true nature of your discomfort. The Force.”

Nodding Freedom felt it flood him as he used it to soothe aching muscles. Cameo smiled again. “Your adoptive father, he has done great work in unlocking your potential. You are far more at ease with the Force than I have ever seen you, yet you still hold back. You have no fear within you Freedom, none of the fears that I knew within you are there. What is keeping you from unleashing your full potential?”

Rolling his neck in irritation Freedom stood and felt the Force ripple through him. The ground around him shivered and the rock in which he was just sitting shook. “I feel it, Master, I feel it within me. It’s like I’m on fire. Unleashing it releases the heat but the fact that I can feel the raw power of it all within me…it terrifies me.”

Cameo watched as Freedom released his unease through the Force and the grass rippled away from his former apprentice. “You were gifted with an unnatural ability Freedom. Few Jedi have existed with your primal connection with the Force. Those that have can be listed on one hand. Do not be terrified. Use it, you control it.”

Shaking his head Freedom felt every ounce of his body shake and clenched his jaw. “Fear is of the dark side Freedom. You are treating the Force as an opponent. It is your ally Freedom. Just like the Mandalorian’s around you that you trust in battle. You must trust the Force.”

Stepping back Cameo wavered slightly. “My time is coming to an end here Freedom. I cannot stay, you must trust it Freedom, you must be willing to let whatever is holding you back go.”

Looking toward the ground Freedom opened and closed his fists. “What if I can’t?”

“You can my young padawan.” Cameo moved to stand next to Freedom and looked at him the way he had when Freedom was just a young boy, full of energy and life willing to do whatever it took to be a Jedi Knight. “The Force is everything and nothing Freedom. It is that which allows you to be who you are. It has never steered you wrong, why doubt it now?”

Taking a breath Freedom released it and eyed the rock before him. Closing his eyes he let the Force roll through his body. Every ounce of him fought against the feeling. It was overwhelming, it was exhilarating and all at the same time terrifying. He felt as if he could have crushed the entire world of Mandalore between his hands. Breathing again a chill ran down his back and he felt Cameo’s presence grow for a few moments. Another person had joined them in the field. Cameo’s voice filled his mind once more. “The Force brought you her Freedom, how can you not trust it.”

Wavering in his thoughts he heard Kera behind him. “I thought you were coming to check something out? It has been long enough, what exactly has you still out of our bed?”

A chuckle filled his mind, Cameo laughing to him as he left his former apprentice. Well done Freedom, she fits you perfectly…someone who keeps you on your toes…and is worth every ounce of blood, sweat and tears you shed beside them. The same could be said for the Force…

Setting his jaw again Freedom raised his chin. The rock before him shook and Kera’s eyes widen. “Do you trust me Kera?”

“Yes, with every bone in my body.” Kera’s confidence in the statement was matched with the steely demeanor in which she said it. “Why?”

Opening himself fully to the Force the Jedi used his complete trust of the woman behind him and transferred it over to the Force. A well of energy that took his breath away opened, a never ending abyss of pure, raw energy flooded his body. He shook, his eyes watered and began to burn. Grimacing through the discomfort he continued to focus. Kera gasped, the rock before him lifted from the ground. All around the two various objects began to hover, a felled tree, a group of deer, even the heavy farming equipment around the farm. Kera felt herself becoming light and shouted. “Freedom! What are you doing!”

“Trust me?” Freedom’s words were that of pure question and complete curiosity.

“Yes, but a warning would have been nice.” Growling to himself the Jedi opened his hands and focused, the Force began to ripple off of him in invisible waves, he planted his feet firmly and growled between clenched teeth. Lifting the rock even higher Freedom let out another breath and grabbed the rock with the Force. Unleashing the full power of the Force flowing through him Freedom punched the air and a crack filled the atmosphere. The Force ripping apart the molecules between his fist and the rock as it erupted from the Jedi. Flying through the air the rock shot forward, accelerating as it went. Slowing his breathing the Jedi lowered every object he had lifted, placing it back where it had been. Turning he smiled amusingly at Kera as she still hung in the air, astonished, overwhelmed and completely uncomfortable with hanging from thin air. I am proud of you Freedom, you have become the man I always wanted you to. Trust in the Force, always.

Freedom smiled to himself and walked toward Kera lowering her gently into his arms and listened. He had yet to hear the rock hit the ground, Kera eyed him with a sense of awe. “What…I’ve never seen you do anything like that before. What made you do that?”

“I’ll explain it all once we get to bed love. There are many things that you don’t know about the Force, the least of it being a dead Jedi coming to visit.” Looking confused and completely uneasy Freedom comforted her.

“He wasn’t here to do harm. Rarely can a Jedi reach out from beyond the grave into the physical world. He was here to help, not to hurt.”

“Who?” Kera placed a hand on her husband’s cheek pulling him in for a kiss.

“Master Cameo Naton. My old Master.”

“What did he want?”

“To help with my lack of faith in the Force.” Kera raised an eyebrow.

“Lack of faith? You used it quite well just now.”

Nodding Freedom agreed. “Yes, he said I should trust it like I trust you. Implicitly.”

Snuggling close against Freedom as he carried her to the house she kissed his neck. “Was that what the show was for?”

Nodding again Freedom snorted a laugh. “He was always good at making things easy for me to relate to.”

“Did he say to lift me up too?”

Laughing Freedom shook his head. “No, my idea. After all I didn’t get to carry you over the threshold earlier, now seemed like as good a time as any.”

Grumbling a reply Kera welcomed her husband’s warmth as they made their way inside. Walking to the bedroom Kera let the sheet that covered her fall way. Wrapping her arms around Freedom’s neck she kissed him passionately. “Well, I’ll forgive you. But only if you make it up to me.”

Sliding his hands around her body Freedom found a tender spot and her eyes widened in the darkness of their room. “That’s a good start…”

OOC: Not the best post. Frankly its horrible. The last bit was Force and I wanted a lot more to be involved in the conversation between Freedom and Cameo. It seems...anti-climactic but it will have to do for now. I needed a way to wake up Freedom's true abilities. It'll get there over a few more posts.

Freedom woke to the sounds of a house alive with action. Two days had past, two days of partying, gifts and reflection. Today was to be the last day of the wedding officially. It was also considered the most important day of the wedding, in Kera’s eyes at least, next to the first day. It was the day when the family gave their gifts. It would be nothing too ceremonious, just close friends and family in the main room of the house. Kera woke with his movement and smiled eyes bright. Touching her in the Force as he always did Freedom felt something different about her and pursed his lips. Kera’s smile faded and knew something was wrong instantly. “What is it?”

Freedom ran his hand over her body and felt another presence in the Force as he reached her abdomen. “Do you feel different? At all?”

Raising an eyebrow Kera sat up pulling the sheet up from her knees to cover herself. “No, not at all. Why?”

Looking her in the eyes Freedom kept his hand on her stomach. “Love…you’re different in the Force, here.”

He emphasized his statement by patting her stomach. “I can’t be certain but I think you are—“

Kera cut him off. “Pregnant!?”

“I just feel, well there’s two different things I feel in the Force when I just touched you in the Force. There’s you, and then there is…it.” Freedom furrowed his brow at the horrible explanation of what he felt.

Smiling for a moment Kera amused herself at her husband’s face and then kissed his neck hiding her surprise as best as possible. “You’re certain that you feel ‘two’ when it comes to me?”

“As much as I can tell, yes.” Freedom moved as Kera slid from the bed and pulled on a robe. She opened the door slightly and called for her mother. Freedom moved quickly to pull on a pair of pants and Nasrey entered soon after.

“Mother, I need you to call the doctor, Freedom seems to believe I’m pregnant.”

“How..” Nasrey’s words sounded confused and Kera rushed to explain.

“The Force, he felt something different in me just now, he says he felt ‘two’ instead of just me.” Kera smiled at the use of Freedom’s lack of ability to explain and Nasrey shook her head and walked out. Kera turned and wrapped her arms around Freedom’s neck and kissed him passionately. Smiling she grabbed his hand and led her husband out into the main room. A fire was burning in the stone fire pit, Jahaal, Kyr, Fyjati, Nomi, Nasrey and a few others were all sitting around the pit. On the table sat a pile of gifts, none wrapped but set underneath a black cloth for secrecy’s sake. Taking their seats Freedom and Kera each watched as Fyjati, Nomi and the various closer relatives each gave their gifts. Freedom’s gift from Fyjati was a srraka blade modified into a dagger. Ceremonial in most ways with carvings of their battles together. Nomi gave Kera one of her more treasured possessions, a woven cloak and handmade bracelet that had been made by her on the day she was declared a woman by her tribe. Kera showed noticeable shock on her face at the gifts and held them close. More gifts were given until Jahaal brought a gift for Freedom. Unwrapping the leather hide that held it Freedom smiled at the gift.

Grabbing it by its grip Freedom touched the release and it sprang open. Cables ran from top to bottom several times while its arms ran away from the handle in a concave shape. The bow was familiar to Freedom, he had used Jahaal’s in a hunt only weeks before. Grinning as he saw the quiver Freedom was more than pleased with the gift, Jahaal and he were more alike than either would admit. Nodding his approval Freedom collapsed the bow and saw there we no more presents. Kal had given his already, armor for Freedom, a specialized whip made of Mandalorian iron for Kera. Nasrey moved toward the kitchen while Kera snuggled up to her husband and they sat watching the fire. Freedom’s mind was empty, happiness swelled around him and he finally knew what his old master meant when he said that home for him wasn’t in his heart, it was in the hearts of those around him.

"So, we have an agreement?" Garen asked the Fondorian opposite the table. With the Mand'alor resided MandalMotors' CEO Karric Nayms, Toricha, and a small cadre of supercommandos of little political importance. Two of them presented on their shoulder pads the distinctive Mandalorian symbol of the mythosaur skull, but in this case it was painted in crimson.

The Fondorian nodded. "We will honor these terms," he said. "My people have seen much battle and conflict in these past few years. I would hope you understand that we will remain skeptical about your ability to truly protect us from any further threats. If this deal turns sour for us, we will not hesitate to terminate our agreement and seek out someone more capable of doing as you promised."

"As long as our terms are met, you will see an end to these petty issues concerning galactic politics and your shipyards," Garen assured him. "You will find that this mutually beneficial agreement is just what you and your people need for security and political longevity. We will begin bolstering your defenses immediately." With those words, the meeting was over.

* * *

"You will form up near the warriors sporting the crimson mythosaur skull, your rally masters," a Mandalorian in dark green armor announced. Based on the description he offered to the assembled motley individuals that were conscripted into the Mandalorians' ranks, he was one of these rally masters he spoke of. "Look for them and listen to them. They'll teach you our ways - and keep you alive."

There was an overall commotion among the crowd of species before him. Some volunteered to become a Mandalorian, while others... not so much. In the end, they were all gathered for one reason alone: to bolster the Mandalorians' numbers, both in preparation for the retaliation that Garen Starfall had been suspecting from the Empire, and to reinforce their home front on Mandalore. Starfall had started the rally master program with the sole intent on mass recruitment and training of this fresh blood to make up for their losses incurred over the past few years. The Mandalorian name was spreading, he had said, and those that wished to join would do so. Those that didn't... well, if they were fit to fight, many of them would end up not having much of a choice.

He understood that many chieftains were not too terribly thrilled about forcing others to become Mandalorians. A recipe for disaster, tainting their ways, there was a good list of reasons. But he didn't know what to think about it. Both sides of the argument were sound and valid, and it was hard to tell what would become of the Mandalorians by using this method. All he knew is that he was one of those that responsibility fell to to make sure that these new recruits were integrated into their ways fluidly and without issue. Some of them never even used a blaster before in their lives; those would be the more difficult ones to train, as marksmanship was a key skill to a culture of warriors whose main export was war.

The arguments escalated closer toward the point of rioting. Those that wanted to be Mandalorians opposed those that did not. He raised his blaster in the air and fired several successive shots, gaining everyone's attention. "Those of you assembled before me have been chosen - whether you approve of that choice or not - to join our ranks. You will not be fighting for yourselves. You will not be fighting for some disconnected commander on a distant world, resting in the security of his own home as you die on the battlefield lightyears away. You will be fighting for a cause greater than yourself, alongside not just other recruits, but seasoned veterans and leaders alike. You are not going in this alone. Every Mandalorian is trained to fight, and every Mandalorian takes their responsibilities very seriously."

"And what if we refuse?" a human male declared from the crowd. He immediately determined the source of the voice. "Do you honestly believe that those of us that don't want this will just take up arms and join your ranks?"

He brought the blaster rifle forward, honing his scopes on the man's head. He would not miss if he felt the need to pull the trigger, no matter how the resistor tried to get out of his line of sight. "Then you can meet the business end of my blaster, and find out the hard way why we Mandos are considered the best mercs in the galaxy. And your last thoughts would be why you opened your mouth and eliminated your chance to join us."

The man thought about retaliating, but the notion quickly faded. He valued his life too much. Regardless, he wouldn't last long. But it wouldn't be by the rally master's hand that he would die.

He lowered the weapon. "Now... form up!" he barked, and the fresh blood dispersed. A healthy sum of them approached him, while the rest of the group sought out other rally masters to learn from. For the first time, he had to wonder; how many rally masters did Mand'alor Starfall declare? And what worlds were they being sent to to gather recruits from?

Ghode Viso stood on top of the troop transport used to bring them to the world that his team of Mandalorian’s now occupied speaking to the gathering of people before him. Many people milled about or followed his direction without delay. Others stood waiting to see if another option would be presented while a few decided that the option given them was unacceptable. Before he could react a blaster bolt spun him to the deck and he grunted inside his helmet. Standing the crowd scattered while the three with blasters quickly tried to meld back into the chaos. This was the third such outbreak of this kind on this world.

He was beginning to question the very reason for gathering people, or ‘herding the cattle’ as one of his men had called it.
Rewinding the video of his HUD he saw the man that pulled the blaster and used his helmet to locate the man in the crowd. Signaling his men they quickly separated him from the rest of the mob moving him to the front of the group. He would be made an example of, as others had been before him. If you would not join the cause, you would die for it. It was a simply mantra set forth by the Mandalor. One that worked with unerring precision.

It had been days since they had returned from Fondor. With the Rally Master program instigated, the Mandalorians’ influence was spreading. Garen didn’t much like having to take such rash decisions, but his people came first. And if that meant mass recruitments, whether the people being “recruited” wanted to or not, then so be it.

There were naysayers toward his agenda, and they were free to speak their mind on the matter. Mandalorian culture was beautiful that way. One could argue with the Mandalore until they were blue in the face, and there would be no charges made, no crimes committed against the ruling body. And, if said person were influential enough, they could even change the direction of their society without ever becoming Mandalore.

Indeed, it was beautiful.

Garen Starfall sat at his desk, analyzing the results of the recruitment drive in their newfound territories. Holding this pocket of space would be immensely difficult, given their lack of numbers after this war. He was putting a great deal of faith in the “home pride” concept of this Rally Master plan of his, placing all his chips on the bet that the people that would be recruited into the Protectors’ ranks would at least be loyal enough to protect their own homes from the inevitable counter-attack.

And what might happen if said counter-attack were to happen, he wondered? Would they have the manpower, the resources, to combat it? He couldn’t help but divert his thoughts back to the growing opinion that the Galactic Empire was not through with them yet. It was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, that they were about to experience a turn of events that would forever alter the Mandalorians. And he was now unstoppable to change it. Not alone.

Perhaps if Blackthorne were by his side for this whole ordeal, but then if he were Garen would not have been Mandalore. Not that he would have been disappointed – this wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He was content as one of Cadden’s most trusted generals and advisors. This wasn’t something he asked for, it was merely put upon him in a time of crisis. Cadden even said he was tailoring him up for this position, but even when it was said, he couldn’t believe it. It was only after his first wartime duties that he finally came to terms with the truth of it.

Still, how he wished he could have simply given the mantle of Mandalore back to Cadden when he returned to the planet. Return the favor; Cadden didn’t want it, but he could have been forced into taking it the same way he forced Garen into it. But such an act would have brought dishonor to not only Garen, but his aliit and his droten.

And now, with this whole ordeal with Sivter being done and over with, the galactic superpowers were averting their attention to other matters of importance. Which meant, for the Mandalorians, the Empire was likely to gear up for a counter-attack. Whether these feelings were founded in truth or not, he couldn’t say for certain, yet he was not one to take unnecessary chances. He had issued orders for a small border patrol force to be dispatched to monitor for any potential threats both within the sector and around it, so as to include Bandomeer and the surrounding territories they claimed there.

It would not be enough to repel a counter-offensive, should the Empire launch one, but they would be more prepared to fight if they knew they were coming.

There was also the point of consideration to make with the growing opinion to put themselves out to hire for the Empire’s will. While a vastly unpopular concept in the ranks of the Mandalorians, there were a few that were advocating it, ignoring various claims about being cowards or sellouts, believing that, if they were to strike an arrangement with the Empire, any further hostilities, which were undoubtedly not going to end in the favor of the Protectors now that Sivter was dead and his Cult disassembled, would not end in their favor. It was a notion Garen could not ignore, but at the same time would not allow to pass. Even if it meant civil war amongst his people. One thing he was not, it was a coward.

This was an unusual position Garen found himself in. He had those itching for war on conquest in one corner, those looking to seek a mutual agreement with the Empire in another, and those that just want to be left alone in yet another. And he could not please them all. Dark times were on the horizon for his people if he did not tread lightly. He managed to appease everybody to a decent enough extent in the meeting between the chieftains, veterans, and others of influential note, but it was not something that would last. Sooner or later, he would have to make a stand somewhere, and face the consequences that might follow.

He analyzed all the possibilities before him. The holographic galaxy map was littered with information, though the predominant one was geopolitical content, indicating potential small-scale targets that the Protectors could hit and where said targets swore their allegiance to. Garen found himself just staring blankly at the map. It seemed too much to take in, all these scenarios, so many variables to consider.

“There are more chieftains calling for blood,” he heard a voice from behind, and Garen shifted his attention to the new presence. It was Ge’tal Senaar, one of the more veteran members of the Protectors. Garen had heard the stories, many of them, about the man and his exploits, leading to indications of where his true allegiances lay, and had to wonder how many of them were true. The man was responsible for the salvation of Concord Dawn from the corruption of one man, vying for the position of Mand’alor, in all the wrong ways. He could have made a good Mand’alor, if it weren’t for the fact that he was one of the few that would have refused the position if it were presented to him. He couldn’t say the same about a host of others, especially the various chieftains that were opposing the time of peace and rebuilding he had managed to secure. “Soon, you’re going to have to make a decision, Mand’alor. It is no easy thing, considering civil war, or war for the sake of profiteering and glory, especially given all the work Blackthorne had done and entrusted you to continue.”

Garen didn’t respond for several seconds. Nothing like putting the pressure on to make the decision easier, he commented dryly. Ge’tal meant well, but Garen didn’t think that he truly grasped the scope of what was going on. The man simply wasn’t in a position for such information, and even if given it, it was not his life, his reputation… even the Mandalorians as a whole… that was at stake.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I managed to quell the storm, but for how long? Even the Council isn’t sure how to get out of this without some kind of heavy collateral damage.”

“If I may, Mand’alor,” Ge’tal said, “I do not believe that holding these territories along the Rimma Way, or even initiating this Rally Master plan of yours, is helping our cause. Sure, you struck the deal with the Fondorians, and managed to bolster our ranks with these new recruits… but for how long will this deal last? As for this Rally Master idea… these aren’t Mando’ade. They are aruetiise who merely wear the beskar’gam. How long would we expect them to last in battle? Would they even fight with honor, or merely turn tail and run at the first sign of defeat?”

Garen nodded. “I appreciate your concerns,” he said, “and I am well aware of the risks. I did not come to these decisions lightly. I’m doing what I can to make the best of a disaster, and help us rebuild… I’m doing this for Manda’yaim and the Mando’ade.”

“We know this, Mand’alor. It does not, however, stop the whispers. Sooner or later, a choice will have to be made. If you are building for the future, you need to keep your foundations strong.”

“And what foundations are we supposed to be building on, Ge’tal?” Garen motioned at the map. “We have the Empire here,” he said, indicating to a region of the known space, “the Sith over there, and the New Republic occupying this area… all of them dangerously close to our own territories. One of them is likely to wage war against us for our actions along the Rimma; most of us expect that we haven’t seen the last of that bloodshed. Another is weary of our actions, and may very well wage war on us just for doing what we do: wage war on others, which could also bring the Jedi Order upon us. And the third,” he indicated specifically to the known areas of the Sith Empire, “well, they don’t exactly have the most glorified past to consider, and any alliances we strike with them would send us down an all-too-familiar path.”

He turned his full attention to Ge’tal. “So are we supposed to take up the mantle of our namesake, and start protecting others? And what would become of us, while we’re out waging someone else’s war, and the Empire decides it’s time to invade our territories? We’ve tried this before, and wound up as canon fodder. Expensive and skilled cannon fodder, but we still lost many lives, and many good warriors, for a cause we cared nothing for. Or perhaps we ought to build our foundation as isolationists? We would tear ourselves apart, and then all our progress would result in nothing, if somebody else doesn’t take advantage of the situation first.” He looked back at the map. “There is always the possibility of a foundation as conquerors, but in this time of political upheaval, the race to build arms before we are attacked for our actions is far direr, and far more costly.”

Garen paused a moment, allowing Ge’tal the opportunity to take in his dilemma, before he spoke again. “You speak of keeping our foundations strong, yet we have no foundations to speak of. Blackthorne was building us toward a promising future, but without him or his son to speak as the mediator between us and the Jedi, those relations fell apart, and we’re back to being nothing more than two factions that don’t much care about the other’s activities, as long as they don’t get in the way of each other.”

“Then I suggest we rebuild our foundations,” he said. “You’ve already begun the push in a bold, new, direction for us, Mand’alor… we ought to keep to our heritage.”

“Our heritage is that of conquerors and warriors, not peacemakers,” he noted.

“You suggest that we follow our ancestors’ ideals, then?” Garen pulled up summarized information on the status of the Mandalorians. “Even if we were to turn to a crusader war, we don’t exactly have the finances and resources to support it, much less deal with any potential repercussions.”

“I don’t suggest anything,” Ge’tal said. “I’m merely cautioning you about the path the chieftains want. The war against the Xen’Chi was the beginning; I’m sure you have been noticing this subtle shift toward the desire of another crusade since we helped beat them to a bloody pulp at Chil’a’Chin. When the Empire hit us, that ignited a spark that will spread to a wildfire, whether you want it or not. This cannot be tempered, and war will happen, with or without your consent or leadership. Your Rally Master plan, Mand’alor, while noble, will undoubtedly bring ill tidings to us at some point down this road. It is inevitable, and unavoidable. And, as Mand’alor, I need not tell you what will be expected of you.”

Garen nodded. Why this man was never put on the Council, he would never know. He had the voice and input that Garen had sought out this whole time. “They would expect me to lead them in the direction they decide to take with equal fervor.”

“Or be removed of your position,” Ge’tal finished.

And in Mandalorian society, there was only one way that would happen. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a Mand’alor could just shrug off. If he didn’t keep the title, things would only get worse. Or were they already, and he just refused to see it for himself?

He thought about it for a long moment, considering the conversation that he was having and weighing his options carefully. “They will expect war,” he said, “whether the Empire causes it or not.” He didn’t care to admit that which he refused to believe: he was becoming much like them. He, too, was itching for war. “If it is war they will want… it will be war that they get.”

Ge’tal gave him a knowing look. “Careful, Mand’alor,” he cautioned slowly. “I may be Mando just like the rest of us, but I have seen firsthand where this train of thought could take someone.”

Garen nodded. He would have to be careful, or be consumed by that which he was attempting to avoid in the first place. “You are right,” he said. “But, often, one does not realize what he has become, until it is too late. How do we know we’re not already this way, and simply looking for an excuse to no longer deny it?”

“Our ancestors never much cared about what others thought of them,” Ge’tal said. “If it is bloodshed we seek, then bloodshed we should find. If it is war, conquest, and the glory of battle, then we should pursue it. And as for the other political players surrounding our territories... history recorded the Mandalorian Wars of old with great detail, Mand’alor. Often times, history has a knack for repeating itself.”

“And what about our Jetii friend, Freedom?” he said. “He may have taken up his allegiance with us, but that does not deny him his core traits as a Jetii.”

“Then I would suggest, if this is the path you wish to take for us… that you take it quietly.”

Garen looked back at the geopolitical map. There were several worlds surrounding their territories that held no official affiliation, and a well-coordinated precision assault would end any conflicts started quietly. Nobody would ever know until long after the event happened. He ran several calculations through his head, to measure the feasibility of the scenario. It was not necessarily beyond their reach.

“If we go down this path,” he said, “there may be no turning back.” He stared at the information before him for a moment longer. “Very well,” he finally said. “Tell Karric Nayms to prepare our assets for war.”

“And those that wish to restore our territories first?” Ge’tal asked. “It would bring discontentment among those that don’t necessarily agree with war.”

“You were in the meeting with the chieftains,” Garen said. “They all agreed with war. It’s the methods that they were divided upon.”

Ge’tal nodded, and took his leave. Garen had found the solution to make everyone happy. He just hoped it wouldn’t paint a big target on the Mando’ade, and instigate a conflict that they could not hope to contend against.

A lone Mandalorian walks around, looking for a decent transport. He trips, and spins on his heel, landing on his rear. Pulling off his helmet, and setting to the side, he hangs his head in between his knees. Looking back up, he shakes his head, and looks upon his helmet, battered, scarred, and dented in the spot that correlates to the huge bruise on the side of his head.
"Shabla machine. Heh, took 'im out pretty well if I say so myself." Rohak had been charging an enemy scout walker, and had taken a blast to the side of his head-he wasn't wearing his beskar'gam, but rather his durasteel plates-rolled with it, and subltly rolled a grenade under him, then lit up his rockets. Of course, he didn't see the tank in front of him, and he knocked himself out, only to wake up looking at the wreackage of battle.
Rohak stands up, replacing his helmet, deciding to walk to his farm, it was only a few more klicks...he hoped his little girl was still alright, not to mention his wife-if the others figured out her true identity, it may well turn into them against the Clans, the Council, all of Mandalore...

Who am I? I'm your worst nightmare, or your best friend. You get to choose. I really hope-for your sake-that you choose correctly...

He keeps on "tabbing" as his old instructor called it, towards his farm, his thoughts still on his wife and child. They were both capable combatants, but he was still protective of them.
After a few hours, he arrives, and looks around for the secret hatch to the main building-underground, so it would be less likely to be targeted by any attacks. He finds it only after a few seconds, and opens it-stepping to the side as a few blaster bolts blazed out of the darkness.Home security system still armed. Good, means no previous intruders.
He ducks down, and jumps down the flight of stairs to hit the landing. He turns, and hits the button to close the hatch and re-arm the security system.
Rohak steps down, and reaches the landing, taking off his helmet and setting it on the table at the doorway.Home, sweet home, I think it goes. Now where's- before he finishes the thought, Rohak is tackled by a small, yellow-and-orange bundle of armor, his daughter, Copi. Another Mando'ad walks up, this one in red-and-gold-trimmed armor-his wife Ruusa.
"Thank goodness you're both okay," Rohak says as he touches his forehead with Ruusa's, tousling Copi's hair.
"What else would you expect Ro'ika? You literally built this place in the ground. Even the ground overhead is farmed. Unless somebody's got a GPR, we're not going to be found anytime soon," was Ruusa's reply.
"Well, let's hope that we get to strike back. Can I go with you this time, Ro'buir?" Copi asked, her big hazel eyes hopeful and expectant.
"She is turning eight soon, you know..." So Ruusa had already agreed to Copi starting her training then. Well, who was Rohak to deny her that.
"Sure, Cop'ika, you can come with me this time. Or your mother, since it's her turn to go out and fight this time," Rohak said finally. The two had agreed that they would not both fight at the same time. It was a safeguard, to make sure that Copi grew up with at least one of her parents...
"Actually, I say we should all go as a family," Ruusa suggested. That was unusual, but then, it also sounded like a good idea. Rohak had an upgraded Stathas-class freighter, armed and armored. If the leadership decided that they would counter, then the entire Kroit Aliit would answer the call.
"So it's agreed. I'm going to Keldabe, see what I can't pick up about the decisions being made. You two can come with, if we're all going out anyway," Rohak said, grabbing his second Go-Bag, loaded with all the necesities for a soldier. Ruusa and Copi already had theirs on them. Rohak picked up the stack of helmets, and passed them out.
He only hoped that the leadership would make the right choice. That Ruusa's secret would not be exposed, and the Copi had not inherited that secret with her...

Who am I? I'm your worst nightmare, or your best friend. You get to choose. I really hope-for your sake-that you choose correctly...

Rohak glanced to the bottom left corner of his helmet's HUD. There was an unread message.Strange, I don't remember hearing any tone from the comm. system... he thought as he opened the message. It was from the Mand'alor. It was a call to battle against the Empire.
"Wayii! Ruusa, Copi, the Council declared war all right, and we've got orders to report for battle. I'm sending our confimations now," Rohak said, doing just that. He also glanced to the middle right side of his HUD, activating the Teroch'la Oya'karir's drives. "The TO's warming up now."
"Good," Ruusa replied. Her Assault Rifle hung on her right shoulder. That, comined with her beskad, was all Rohak had ever seen her fight with. It was all she needed. Her armor had plenty of other weapons systems, but she never used them. Rohak himself carried an Assault Rifle, Repeater, twin beskade, two kom'rk'la kale, gauntlet blaster, smartrope, and rocket pack. It was all rather heavy, but it strangely never slowed Rohak down. Likely because he'd literally grown up with that sort of weight on his shoulders and back. Copi only had a BlasTech sidearm that Rohak had fashioned a stock for, and her own beskal. They were ready for war. They were eager. Rohak squeezed Ruusa's knee, and he could feel her smile under her helmet. How he did, his still had no clue. But he had been married to her for almost fourteen years now, and he attributed this phenomenon to that fact.
They arrived at the TO's hangar in Keldabe, and loaded the airspeeder-also armed and armored, the only vehicles that the Kroits owned that wasn't was their farming grav-sled.
Rohak checked the drives, weapons, and shields-all green, and so were all three of the Mando'ade aboard.Now all we need is the go-order, and the co-ordinates...

Who am I? I'm your worst nightmare, or your best friend. You get to choose. I really hope-for your sake-that you choose correctly...

The operation was a quiet one, as had been ordered by Mand'alor himself. Only a handful of warships were deployed to the planet, but it was enough to squelch the opposition. Their first maneuver was jamming communications, thus disallowing for any calls to help. While some could have considered it a coward's tactic, it was a necessary precaution. The planet was too close to Republic space to be discounted from being offered aid in the event of a Mandalorian invasion, and Garen wanted desperately to get its still-standing shipyards back under Mandalorian occupation.

The Keldabe-class Battleship Kandosii Kote lead the charge against the near-defenseless world, flanked by but a few Crusader-class Corvettes and several Atiniir-class Dungeon Ships. The main source of their firepower, however, rested with the small, yet deadly, starfighters that accompanied them. Featured among these fighters was the debut performance of MandalMotors' newest developments, the Prudii-class and Kad-class Assault Fighters.

As their ships closed the gap between their point of entry and the planetary orbit, the force of local defenders came within a few dozen kilometers of their position. The fighter groups broke off, with the Dungeon Ships slowing only slightly to allow for their more combat-capable compatriots on the battlefield. The Kandosii Kote and her escorts would pave the way for the Dungeon Ships to break through the defenses and land on the planet's surface. It would allow for the Mandalorians to bridge the gap between their arrival and the conquest of the world, and in such a way to not alert any nearby interested parties of their intentions.

Fenel's defenses met up with the assault force, and the two fleets exchanged blows against each other. The Prudii and Kad fighters demonstrated their worthiness to their adversaries marvelously, as they engaged their opponents' own fighter defense, albeit minimalistic as it was for an independent world. For each of the Mandalorians' ships that went down, they took out several of their enemies' own.

Before long, the orbital defense started to break. The Keldabe and its Crusader escorts pummeled the CR90 corvettes and singular Nebulan-B Frigate that posed the only viable defense to this otherwise helpless world. From the bridge of the Kandosii Kote, the Mandalorian commander mused that they had possibly even interrupted ongoing talks of this world joining a side. Well, the Mandalorians would provide a swift answer to their final decision. It was not preferable to ruin Fenel's infrastructure, but they would make up for it in time. Mand'alor's command was simple; victory by any means necessary, but with as few losses to their military and production strengths as possible.

Which, truly, depends vastly on these peoples' willingness to surrender, he thought. He was a seasoned warrior, with many victories under his belt. Though he wasn't exactly a decorated starship commander, the recent power grabs that Mand'alor was making on these small-time worlds hardly made the difference in qualifications. Fenel was, perhaps, one of the more fortified independent worlds they had encountered on this campaign. Which wasn't saying much, considering what they were up against here.

He bore the standard blue-and-silver armor design, made famous by Jango Fett. An outsider might have made such a connection and considered his decision on the armor color scheme to be a type of homage, or perhaps his own personal ambitions to strive to be like the famed bounty hunter. However, any Mando would know that such assumptions could not have been farther from the truth. He continued to observe the battle from the bridge of the Keldabe, occasionally barking out orders in order to reflect a changing situation that the other Mandalorians had not noticed themselves. The defensive line was broken, and he gave the go-ahead for the Dungeon Ships to begin their approach. They were minimally armed, relative to the Mandalorian ships built for combat, but it was enough to defend themselves while they performed their primary purpose.

With their orbital defenses broken, the planet had only one option left for its defense, an option it would quickly find as unfavorable as the combat in space. When the Dungeon Ships touched down on the surface, and began to unload the Mandalorians for the fight, the planetary defenses were quick to assess the situation and come to a reasonable conclusion. Within a couple hours, and a short initial battle which proved favorable to the Mandalorians, the planetary government offered their surrender.

The Mandalorian commander himself was present during the writing of the terms, and during this process had learned that Fenel was considering joining the Republic. Since then, they had changed their minds, and opted to be under Mandalorian control instead. A wise choice, considering how much they had to lose if they refused, and how little they had to gain if they came under the ownership of a larger, bureaucratic government. They had lost many lives, a scar that would not quickly heal, but in return they were under Mandalorian protection.

The commander made his report to Mand'alor and awaited his next command, while overseeing the cleanup operations and turning Fenel's shipyards to use in the Mandalorian war machine. It was the true reason behind targeting the sparsely-populated world, compared to others of its class, considering the planet's harsh history over the past seven hundred years. It was also considered small enough a target to not attract unwanted attention, and easy to control the populace of.

While a minor battle, the planet posed a significant victory in the Mandalorians' new campaign.

Garen and his Mandalorian Council looked over the statistics of their campaign. They had claimed Fenel early on, and had since brought ruin down as far Coreward as the Expansion Region worlds of Tierfon and Thustra. Their might in the Outer Rim was growing, but was not unnoticed by all. Garen had received word that their local neighbors had begun to raise eyebrows in their direction for their assaults. It wasn't wholly unexpected, but it did cause reason to pause for them to determine the severity of the consequences of moving forward.

The campaign had been a success thus far, but if they brought unwanted attention toward them, he could not be certain of how well they could respond to any attacks from the Republic or Empire. Garen was leaning against the table, propping himself up with both hands as he stared at the geopolitical display before them. They had recently taken Harloen using many of their forces stationed at Bandomeer, and were now setting their sights on more ambitious goals. He had just proposed moving a percentage of their assault force up the Hydian Way to strike at Botajef, while moving another portion of their war effort toward the Perlemian.

Nedth considered the information pitched carefully. "Mandalore," he said, "this is a bold maneuver to take, one which the Republic and Empire are not likely to take lightly. Both these directions are beginning infringements into their territories. While striking smaller independent worlds has been rather favorable, and has minimized repercussions, there is nothing to say that the two governments wouldn't come down on us with these targets in mind."

"The chieftains are demanding pushes to advance our forces," Kyr argued. "We started this movement, to cut it off cold turkey would result only in civil war."

Garen didn't take his eyes off the map. "That is one outcome," he admitted. "Could they be tempered into accepting what we have done thus far, and now turn to build up our infrastructure using the spoils of war?"

"Doubtful, Mand'alor," Jesik said. "You set us to purpose. Only defeat can stop the outcry of bloodshed, now." He paused. "We could recall many of our forces from the Rimma Worlds we claimed from the Empire to bolster our defenses here."

"Or, alternatively, offer them up to, say, the New Republic as a means of squelching their growing angst against us and moving closer to their territories," Karric chimed in. "It would hurt our infrastructure a little, and it would lower income from controlling Thyferra, but it would provide us a bit of a political cushion in the events ahead."

"And our territories held out along the Rimma would be the first in jeopardy," Karric argued. "They're surrounded on all sides by the Republic, with the Empire but a stone's throw away, if they felt inclined to take them back from us. Our only fast-response connection is Midpoint Station, and sending any reinforcements through there would only lessen our ability to defend our territories out here."

Kyr nodded. "I find myself agreeing with Karric, here, Mand'alor. We cannot hope to hold our Rimma territories if we agitate the Republic on any front."

"We cannot simply just pack up and leave," Garen argued. "We paid for those worlds with blood. It would be seen as weakness to withdraw our forces from there, no matter the reason."

"The same way we withdrew from Dxun?" Kyr said. "We refused to fight the Sith who ravaged the Jedi Order, because we knew we couldn't win. Now any standing relations with them are null as a result. They know what we did - or, rather didn't do - and they won't soon forget it. I'm not advocating retreat, but we cannot just charge forward blindly, simply because our momentum allows it."

"Then we have to find a discernible advantage to avoid being destroyed by our potential enemies," Garen said. "We are Mandalorians. War is what we are renowned for. And we are shying away from it because of the Republic or Empire?"

"Sivter is dead," Jesik noted. "The galaxy has calmed down a little since then, and so we cannot get away with as much as we have been able to up until this point. Their forces are not so divided. They will strike at us, and will give us a beating, unless we find an advantage to fully utilize against them."

"Our current technology can only do so much," Karric said. "I doubt that even the Prudii or Kad class fighters will fill that bill."

"What about that Bes'uliik design you showed me?" Garen asked, inquisitively. "Will that be ready in time to, at least, test?"

Karric shook his head. "We are still working out several issues with the design methodology in the spacecraft," he admitted. "In concept, it is an impressive piece of machinery, but without further improvements to its design, which under current circumstances we have been having great difficulties in doing, all it is is an engineer's dream."

"There are other options," Jesik said. "They are not the most favorable, but implementing them could bring more favor to our forces." Garen just looked at him, queuing him to continue. "Millennia ago, we utilized, many times quite liberally, weaponry that carried a devastating nuclear fission detonation. These warheads still exist today, and can be found out here in the Outer Rim. We need only look for it."

It wasn't exactly a very honorable way to fight, Garen noted, but at the same time it could turn any tide of battle in their favor if utilized properly, maximizing tactical advantage. Nevertheless, he did not like the thought of deploying nuclear warheads against their enemies, no matter the reason. Unless it was to defend their own lives against them. "I presume there are no present alternatives?"

"Not at the moment, Mand'alor," he said. "But it would be a good way to hold the Republic ransom. They find out we're hoarding nuclear warheads, all we need do is threaten to utilize them if they get in our way. Some demonstrations might be in order, granted, but once they realize what we are capable of doing, and willing to do, then they would have no choice but to leave us to our own devices."

"And the Empire?"

"The Empire, I think, is under better management. They wouldn't be so willing to buckle, unfortunately, but repeat uses on their own worlds might dissuade them from retaliation."

Garen thought on this for a moment. "The Jedi would not much care for us any longer if they discovered we're unleashing nuclear devices on innocents," he noted.

"With all due respect, Mand'alor," Kyr said, "The Jedi will not be holding us in high regard once they catch word of our latest conquests, anyway. Utilizing nuclear warheads will force their hand, I'd assume, but we've already been walking on thin ice ever since the beginning of this campaign."

"Do we have any objections?" Garen asked. There was silence. He was hoping there wouldn't have been, but it could not be helped. "Kyr, I want you to use your connections to locate sellers of these devices. We will also send shipments out to the Rimma worlds as a means of dissuading any intruders to our territories out there. Make sure our commanders out there are well informed of what is expected of them, and to use their judgment should any situations arise."

"Shall we begin to assemble our forces for Botajef?" Jesik asked.

Garen nodded. "A secondary strike force is to be sent to Venaari," he said. "Once we occupy that world, we will launch a campaign against Indu-San." The Council looked at him inquisitively. Indu-San itself held little importance on its own, but the planet did have a major tactical significance that no Council member could outright ignore.

"You wish to strike against the Republic?" Karric asked. "Mand'alor, while this proposition of Jesik's can quell any possible repercussions of our raids on neutral worlds, attacking one that borders their occupied space would be seen as a preemptive of war. Should our nuclear warheads not be sufficient to deter them from hostilities, MandalMotors will not be able to keep up with an all-out war."

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it," Garen said. "We cannot keep to our pocket of space, and expect the chieftains to be satisfied with our progress. I would rather see them rally against a common enemy, even if by our own design, than to see us divided in civil war." He paused a second to allow that to sink in. "We strike at Botajef and Indu-San."

Garen Starfall had been hard at work these past couple months, waging war on neighboring sectors while trying to keep the Republic, Empire, and Sith from raising a finger to stop them. He considered it fortunate that the Jedi were too preoccupied with this Darth Trayus individual to be able to step in and intervene.

This small slice of good news was countered, however, by growing tensions among his people. Clan Aden, lead by one of his most trusted followers, Kyr, had grown distant from him, and the man had even gone so far as to make it publicly known that he and his clan would no longer answer to Garen's leadership. His influence was growing, yet Garen still held the advantage in both his own influence and numbers.

"You need to squelch them," Jesik advised. “If Kyr continues to gain support, at this rate, you would either have to fight him, or submit.”

“I already have enough on my plate,” Garen said, “I don't need a civil war to add to it. Kyr needs to be made an example out of, yes, but it does not have to come to bloodshed. A misbehaving strill does not necessarily need to be put down.”

“But if it fails to respond to corrective actions, what other choice would you have?” Ge'tal said. He had been a more recent addition to Garen's council, having come onboard shortly after Botajef. The perspective he held was one that often proved refreshing to Garen.

Yet Kyr had remained loyal, to a fault, until Garen's crusade had kicked into full gear. After the Protectors had used those nuclear weapons on Botajef, the man had become distant, and ceased attending the council meetings. Soon after that, he pulled his Shadow Warriors from duty, against Garen's orders. It was only a matter of days before he ordered both them and his clan to cease communications with Garen or his supporters.

Since then, Kyr and his followers had been rallying support to cease the bloodshed. This was not something Garen was going to do, however. The momentum was too strong, and this campaign produced nothing but favorable results so far.

Kyr's opposition had been getting worse, as he learned that earlier today there was a scuffle in the Keldabe marketplace. Mav, of course, claimed that the Adens caused it all. Which, to its core, was true. His fraggin opposition to Garen's leadership was getting out of hand, and he was running out of options in how to deal with it.

“I will go speak to him,” Garen said.

“Mand'alor, is that wise?” Ge'tal said. “Attempts at negotiation will make you appear weak in the chieftains' eyes. Many of them will not be willing to follow you once they learn of this.”

“This is not an attempt at negotiations,” Garen said, slightly agitated at Ge'tal's assumption. “I refuse to back down from this nu'ijaat jag and his cyar'tomade.”

Ge'tal had a brief look of anger, but it quickly subsided. He's doubting me, Garen noted. Kyr's influence is spreading faster than I thought. “I will speak with him and lay down my ultimatum,” he continued. “If he still refuses, and persists… then the punishment shall be harsh.”

“And what of the growing tensions with the Empire?” Jesik asked. “Our raids have raised more than a few eyebrows, and the Imps are growing weary of our actions.” It didn’t exactly help that Botajef was just outside Imperial territory, and they were still fairly bitter about the battles along the Rimma. “Fighting wars so close to their borders doesn’t exactly sit well for them.”

Garen nodded in agreement. “I suspect they’ll be launching an attack soon,” he said. "It will provide adequate enough distraction for those considering joining Clan Aden, with the potential threat of our home turf being compromised.” Ge’tal gave him a look, which didn’t take Garen much to decipher. “If the Empire does launch their counteroffensive, we will be ready for them." He had been expecting this to happen ever since they won Fondor, and while his suspicions of retaliation were left unfounded, the possibility of an Imperial counterattack had constantly been looming ever since. "While our economy is still recovering, the profits we have gained from both wars and the beskar have been more than adequate to rebuild our military infrastructure." And, once their farmland was back in shape, they wouldn't have to concern themselves so much over importing food. As it stood, that was the single competing expense to their wartime efforts.

"Our readiness won't mean much if we have political strife within our very ranks," Ge'tal suggested. "An army is useless if it doesn't follow its leader's commands."

Ge'tal had a valid point, here, which was why Garen was intent on speaking with Kyr sooner over later. "Then we had better be certain that it does, and continues to do so," he said.

The Council meeting lasted another hour, as they went over logistics and setting up their forces at strategic points of value should an Imperial attack come. After it was adjourned, Garen got in contact with Kyr and set up a rendezvous point for them to discuss what was going on. Garen found himself somewhat surprised at how willing Kyr was to work this out without bloodshed. But he was unwilling to back down from this crusade he started, and stuck to his guns.

"Your actions are bringing dishonor to both your aliit and Mando'ade," Garen pressed. "And I cannot guarantee your safety, or that of your aliit."

"My actions?" Kyr retorted. "You brought nuclear warheads into this crusade of yours. You killed countless innocents over a cheap victory, just to appease your own bloodlust. Mand'alor Blackthorne was not steering us in this direction. He was not building you up to be like this. Nor would he approve if he were here."

"Aruetyc di'kut," Garen spat. "I am Mand'alor, now. Not Blackthorne. And there is no way he could have possibly anticipated this moment."

"No, you're right. There isn't. But at least he would have made something of a plan, rather than caving in to di'kutla demands for pointless bloodshed." Kyr met Garen's gaze with no less intensity. The fact the man was inherently intimidating, especially when he wanted to be, didn't help Garen much. Nonetheless, he retained his resolve and stood his ground.

"I am not going to warn you again," he said slowly, quietly, backing every word, every syllable with fierce intent. "Back down, or the consequences will be severe. I am doing what is best for my people."

"By sending vode to fight, kill, and die just to satisfy both the chieftains' bloodlust and your own?" Kyr said. "There's no honor in that. There's no honor in reducing entire populations to nuclear waste just because they refuse to bow to your rule."

Garen narrowed his eyes. "You have one week," he said. "If this foolishness does not end by then, you, your entire aliit, and your cyar'tomade will be placed on the front lines of this crusade, with no considerations for leave to return home." Garen took his leave, not giving Kyr the chance to say another word to him.

"Ori'buyce, kih'kovid," he said to the man's back. He didn't care who heard him. Kyr would have taken any of Garen's supporters on if they dared pick a fight with him. But this was not the case, here. He was entitled to his opinion, and nobody was about to pick a fight with a Spectre, regardless of his standing with Mand'alor.